


The Body Holographic

by Leah (Taste_is_Sweet), springwoof



Series: Abandoned Atlantis [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Companion Piece, Cut off from Earth, Drama, Established Relationship, Family, Independent Atlantis, M/M, Multi, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Leah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/springwoof/pseuds/springwoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I would give anything for you to be real."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Holographic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Left To Fend](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6509) by Springwoof. 



> With many, many thanks for our wonderful betas: [Alyse](http://www.unconsciousmind.co.uk/), [Auburn](http://www.eternalvox.net/~auburn/) and [Ardent](http://ardent.mrks.org/).
> 
> Illustrations by [Springwoof](http://springwoof.livejournal.com/).

_…No NYC, Los Angeles_  
No Saint Louis, no New Orleans  
No you and me, no you and me…  
\---Living Things, “Bom Bom Bom”

***

The little white cottage in the modest seaside suburb of Emmaganville on the Mainland wasn't a place anyone would have envisioned for Rodney McKay's retirement. In fact--nobody had dared to actually voice it at the retirement party, but it was in everyone's eyes--the concept of McKay _retiring_ obviously boggled the mind. At the time, McKay had mentally snorted and rolled his remaining eye. It didn't boggle _his_ mind. And his mind, as always, was the one that counted.

McKay felt a shadow of a grin curl his lip at that thought as he carefully tucked a seedling into the soil of the planter box. The tiny plant was from a strain of seed that Katie Brown (Ancestors rest her soul) had developed thirty years ago. She'd named the plant after him. _Pegasus grandiflora mckay_ would develop into a hardy, compact plant with thin, sparse leaves, but loud, showy flowers, but the plant's real gift was its fruit. The flavor was utterly indescribable in Earth terms, but utterly delicious. The plant's nutrition value was high, and its productivity constant and abundant throughout its growing cycle. Katie had given him both a real tribute and a sarcastic comment on his shortcomings, all in one package. The kicker was that McKay loved the fruit, thought the flowers looked and smelled good, and had faithfully grown at least one plant every year since Katie had proudly presented him with the first seeds. He'd gotten a late start with the planting this year, but there was still time for a plentiful crop before winter.

McKay carefully wiped the dirt off his hands with the rag from his pocket before measuring the plant nutrient compound and pouring it into his watering can. He gave the seedlings a good soak. The wind from the ocean gusted in, stirring the remaining few wisps of his hair and feeling pleasant in the late spring heat. McKay shaded his eye and peered at the cloudless sky and the sparkle of sunlight off the water. He'd have to apply more sunscreen in a little while. With a grunt, he lifted the planter and carried it to its box on the deck railing, where he would eventually be able to see the flowers from any window at the back of the house, all summer and fall, and even into the winter--at least until the first really big storm.

Pleased with his efforts, he gathered up his tools and managed to get the back door open with his elbow. Once inside the house, he finally heard the loud knocking at his front door. It sounded like whoever it was had been knocking for a while. McKay's hearing was not what it once was--too much exposure to too many explosions and too much gunfire without any kind of hearing protection over too many years. The bad hearing didn't much bother him on a day-to-day basis. He played his music too loud, but his neighbors lived far enough away that it didn't bother them. Or, at least, they never complained to _him_ about it.

The notion that he might be intimidating his neighbors without even trying put a smile on his face as he opened the front door.

"Jinto!" he exclaimed. Jinto wasn't a usual visitor. His duties in Atlantis made him a very busy man.

Jinto smiled broadly. "I _knew_ you were home, Doctor Rodney! Your neighbor, Aisha, said to just knock louder." He indicated the house next door with the tilt of his head, and McKay peered around Jinto's shoulder. Indeed, there was Aisha, pulling her yellow shawl around her shoulders in the wind and waving nervously before ducking back into her own house. McKay snorted. Yes, he was becoming a veritable cliché, nosy neighbors and all.

He placed his hands on Jinto's shoulders and brought them forehead-to-forehead in the traditional Athosian greeting. "What brings you to see me, Jinto?"

"May I enter? The wind--"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Come in, come in! Is this an urgent matter, or do you have time for something to eat? Something to drink? Tea?" McKay urged Jinto into the main room of the house, which was a combination of living room, dining room, and kitchen. The cottage had only three rooms; he didn't need much, just the main room, his bedroom, and the guestroom for when his son, Johnny, or other friends from the city came to visit. McKay bustled to move his notes off the table--the book he privately suspected he'd never really get around to finishing.

"Tea would be lovely, Doctor Rodney." Jinto settled gracefully at the table, eyes bright, expression pleased.

No emergency at Atlantis requiring McKay's expertise then. McKay squashed an unwanted combination of disappointment, irritation and relief as he turned and fussed with the tea things.

The tray he finally carried to the table contained not just the tea and condiments, but a plate of dainty lavender-colored Athosian fruit pastries as well. Jinto made a sound of delight and swooped, snatching one up before McKay even had the tray properly settled on the table. McKay smiled, remembering that exact behavior with this particular kind of pastry when Jinto had been a young boy. It was strange to think that Jinto was a grandfather now, several times over.

"Ummm. Delicious, Doctor Rodney! The sneekes are perfect!" Jinto licked his lips and stirred sweetener into his tea as he eyed the stack of pastries again. "Did you make them?" he asked, his attention never wavering from the sneekes.

McKay laughed. "Of course not! Aisha makes a batch every few days and brings some by so that she can check in on me, as Tal Weir has undoubtedly asked her to. At least she's good enough to bring food when she's spying." He waved at the plate. "Please, Jinto, take as many as you like. It's nice to see you enjoy them."

McKay took a sneeke himself to dunk languidly in his tea as he watched Jinto pop two of the small pastries in his mouth, one after the other, and chew with gusto. He took a small, careful bite of his own pastry. He enjoyed the textures of food well enough, but his sense of smell and taste were not what they once were, and he never had much of an appetite these days.

He peered at the sneeke in his hand and smiled in remembrance. "Teyla introduced me to these. She used to like them almost as much as you do, but she could never bake her own. They always came out terrible--burnt, or hard as stones, or too salty, or _something_."

"Yes, I remember," Jinto agreed. He picked up another sneeke and took a small bite out of it this time, followed by a sip of tea. "My father was a far better baker. He'd save some of our sneekes for Teyla. Old Charin would always bake her some for the midwinter festival." Jinto and McKay shared a smile--still tinged with sadness after all these years, but a smile nonetheless--over memories of Teyla and her delight in these little pastries.

"So, Jinto, what brings you to see me? Not that I don't enjoy your company, but you are a busy man. The city can't spare you to be making social calls on useless old men like me."

A slow shake of the head and a wry eyebrow conveyed all Jinto had to say about the time back when such a comment would have never passed McKay's lips. McKay shrugged in answer. It was true, if blunt. He had made all the valuable contributions he was going to make, scientific or otherwise. His only child was grown. He had outlived most of his original colleagues, a great many of his friends, his wife, and the love of his life, some by several decades. He was just a useless old man now, waiting to die.

Jinto slouched and hooked his elbow over the back of his chair, a gesture copied directly from John Sheppard. McKay's sight dimmed momentarily with the familiar, old--almost comfortable now, really--pain.

"Well." Jinto smiled at him fondly, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "I wouldn't have had to come out here if you didn't insist on not having a communicator in your house. Do you remember what day this is, Doctor Rodney?"

McKay shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't tell me Tal Weir wants to trundle me out to the city for another holiday ceremonial thing. I _told_ Elizabeth I was done with those..."

Jinto snickered, then reached out and covered one of McKay's gnarled hands with his own. "Yes, Tal Weir sent me. No, it's nothing so formal. It's your _birthday_ , Doctor Rodney! Your friends want you close so that we can celebrate with you!"

"Ah!" McKay blinked stupidly. He licked his lips. "It's that time again, already? Didn't I just have a birthday?"

"Of course. _Last year_."

"Oh. Right. Well, obviously it's not that important to me if I didn't even remember. We can probably skip it this year and--"

"Johnny wants you to come." Jinto gave him puppy-dog eyes on Johnny's behalf. "He would have come to get you himself, but he couldn't get away from the labs."

McKay sighed, and resigned himself to attending. He had seldom been able to deny his only child anything he truly wanted. Cara had often chided him for his weakness. The Villana and PerAn both were rather strict with their children. In comparison, both the Tau'ri and Athosians were ridiculously indulgent.

"I suppose they want the full rigmarole? Staying out there overnight and everything?" McKay took the twinkle in Jinto's eyes for assent, and he got up to start packing.

"Everyone will be there," Jinto offered, carrying the tray of tea things to the kitchen counter. "Tal Weir and her Household, Doctor Beckett-Cadman and her Household, several of your Yana clansfolk, the Defender, of course, and…"

 _The Defender, of course_. McKay shrugged off the momentary paralysis over the mention of that name and let Jinto's prattle wash over him as he finished packing his overnight bag and closing up the house for an absence of at least a few days.

At the door, McKay tried to bat away Jinto's hands as they fastened a cloak over his shoulders. "Jinto, stop! It's _hot_ out. It's spring already!"

"The wind is still cold, Doctor Rodney." Jinto smiled indulgently and patted McKay's shoulders after he finished. "You must be careful not to fall ill. We want you with us for many years yet. Here, let me carry your pack."

Knowing better than to argue, McKay let Jinto shoulder his pack. He tugged at the neckline of the cloak as he descended the front steps of the cottage, waving absently to Aisha as she peered out at them from her window. At least he could still navigate stairs with relative ease. All that running for his life on various planets under a variety of gravities had kept his limbs strong and useful. Not even much in the way of arthritis, so far, except for a little in his hands when the weather was damp. His back bothered him fiercely sometimes, but then it always had, and sleeping on the ground as often as he had over the years hadn't helped much.

As it was, he was easily able to keep up with Jinto's energetic stride down to the harbor, where the fishing and pleasure boats were anchored, and where the occasional jumper from the city or the space station would land.

McKay knew he was way past his mental prime. Even if none of his colleagues would admit it to his face, the proof was easy to find. For instance, it was only when the jumper came into view that it occurred to him to ask who the pilot was.

"Why, the Defender, of course," was Jinto's startled reply. "I thought you'd know that he would come for you himself, Doctor Rodney."

 _The Defender, of course_.

***

McKay was pacing.

He was on the balcony outside the briefing room, stalking back and forth alongside the railing, shoulders hunched and fingers twisting anxiously behind his back. It was the middle of the night, very dark and cold in the wind, and McKay was shivering. Not a lot, but enough to make his jaw tremble and his shoulders jitter uncomfortably under his jacket. He’d already zipped it closed at least an hour before, but it was his lightweight one and it wasn’t helping much.

He glanced at the doors to go back into the city. It was warm inside, well-lit and out of the wind.

McKay shook his head and kept pacing. He’d be forced inside soon enough, anyway. It was less than four hours before the briefing.

He still had nothing to tell them. No suggestions, no solution--it was like the only thing in his head was an endless repetition of _we’re screwed, we’re screwed, we’re screwed_.

He turned at the end of the balcony, where the railing curved towards the wall of the building, and started back again. The wind gusted through his hair and he shuddered as it slid down his collar. At this rate he was going to give himself pneumonia, though right now he didn’t think he could be rendered any more useless than he already felt. Was. They were all expecting him to pull another Hail Mary out of the air the way he always did, and in less than four hours he was going to have to go in and tell them that no, there was no way to fix this. They were screwed. They were on their own.

Just over sixty-three hours ago they had dialed Earth, like usual, to send their weekly databurst back to Stargate Command. McKay had been ready with his laptop, sitting next to the Canadian sergeant as he dialed the gate, with Weir and Sheppard standing behind them. McKay’s mind had been bouncing between two different projects he would rather have been working on, and his latest argument with Zelenka about both of them. He was bored and a little irritated, and even the prospect of amazing and enthralling Colonel Carter yet again with his exploits in the Pegasus galaxy wasn’t enough to make him happy he was there, spending all of ten minutes of his precious time updating Earth.

And then the last chevron wouldn’t lock.

They’d all thought it was a simple mistake at first, of course. Even the sergeant had just blinked, muttered ‘sorry,’ and begun dialing again. The nice thing about the consoles of the control room was that, unlike Carter’s jury-rigged monstrosity at the SGC, there was no waiting while the computer cleared, or the endless ‘chevron-whatever-encoded’ while the gate spun and groaned on the other side of the reinforced glass. The sergeant just hit the keys again, more slowly this time, concentrating, and the eighth chevron still wouldn’t lock.

The third time it was obvious that something was terribly, terribly wrong. McKay had vetoed a fourth try, apparently doing so loudly enough that Sheppard put his hand on his shoulder and suggested he calm down. McKay had yelled at him that this was really, really not a good time for _calm_ , but he’d felt Sheppard’s quiet expectation that he would figure out the problem and solve it, and that got his mind working like nothing else besides imminent death, the way it always did.

Except that there wasn’t anything wrong with the console. Or the gate. Or the charge from the ZPM. They had no problem dialing their own Alpha Site, or the world they last visited, or the gate address they chose randomly from the list in the database.

They tried Earth again. Still nothing.

Sheppard had the bright idea to dial Earth’s Alpha Site, figuring that at the very least they might have some information on what had happened. The last chevron for that address wouldn’t lock, either.

They tried the seat of the Jaffa council, after that. Then P3X-797, the world of light and darkness, because McKay thought he remembered that the locals still kept in contact with Carter’s team every so often. They tried Edora, then, where O’Neill had once been stranded--the people there were Earth-friendly, too. Next they tried the last known address of the Tok’Ra. The Nox had made their gate inaccessible a long time ago, so when they couldn't find the Tok'Ra they moved along to the Asgard. They were using power like water at this point, but nobody cared. Nobody even mentioned it.

Nothing, and nothing, and nothing. The only gates that locked were the ones on uninhabited planets. Otherwise they couldn’t finish dialing. For every single one.

“I’ll go,” Sheppard had said at the impromptu briefing, immediately after. “I’ll gate to the closest planet we can access with a jumper and fly to Earth from there.” He looked so matter-of-fact while he was saying it, like what he was suggesting was even _reasonable_ , that McKay wanted to hit him. McKay clenched his fists under the table instead, happy that they weren’t sitting side-by-side.

“Of course you will,” he said, his mouth bleeding sarcasm like acid, trying to bludgeon Sheppard with words because he couldn’t use his fists. “Because, leaving aside the horrific power drain of sending you through the gate, you are so _completely expendable_ that you would naturally be the first choice to fly into a galaxy-wide Armageddon with no hope of getting back! Why don’t you go now? I’m sure Major Lorne will be thrilled to take over your position, as soon as we never hear from you again.”

But inside, he was chanting _don’t go don’t go don’t go_ until it felt like the words were screaming in his head, like everyone else could hear them. And maybe some of that showed on his face, because Sheppard’s head snapped around to glare at him, his mouth opening, and then he said nothing, turning away as if he were ashamed.

“We don’t know that it’s…’Armageddon’, Rodney,” Weir said with her typical ‘maybe it’s not actually as bad as it looks’ calm. She rode right over McKay’s snapped ‘of course we do!’ to add, “but I agree that we shouldn’t send anyone to the Milky Way Galaxy without having a better idea of what’s happening, at least.” The _we definitely shouldn’t send you_ , was implicit in the way she looked pointedly at Sheppard, and McKay was grateful for that.

“We’ve all been up for…” Weir had to look at her watch; McKay couldn’t remember the last time he’d left the control room. “Twenty hours, give or take.” She took a breath, and McKay could practically feel the exhaustion and anxiety seeping out of her on her exhale. Her tiny smile was horrible with forced hope. “I think what we need most right now is some sleep, to let us gain perspective. We’ll meet back here in ten hours.” And McKay was the one who got the pointed look when she said ‘perspective’ (which was so unfair, because damn it, he was _right_ ), but she went on before McKay could defend himself. “I expect some possible courses of action that _don’t_ involve one-way trips through a wormhole.”

She said something after that about keeping the terrible news confined to as few people as possible until they ‘knew for certain’ that the Milky Way was inaccessible, as if that wasn’t already obvious. McKay nodded, not really listening, and murmured about agreeing and understanding, and they all ignored the fact that all the soldiers guarding the gate (Spanish now, though he remembered that the first group had been Russians, when everything went to hell) and the technicians at the consoles and the guy who had brought the coffee and sandwiches would likely tell everyone they knew what had happened, and ten hours from now Weir would probably be dealing with mass panic.

He hadn’t slept, of course. Not that, in the end, it had done any good. And in--oh, hey, about three hours--everyone would be looking at him, expecting him to know what to do now, and he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.

~~~

McKay smacked his palm against the pad next to Sheppard’s door, hard enough to hurt. The door slid open and he was inside before he registered the darkness. The only light was from the clear, square tubes threading up the walls, the liquid inside casting the room into soft green shadows, as if Atlantis was still under the ocean.

Sheppard snapped up as soon as the door opened, throwing his blanket back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

McKay stopped, holding his hands up, palms out. He was a little concerned that Sheppard was going to launch himself at him. “Whoa, whoa! It’s okay, It’s me! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“Rodney?” Sheppard blinked at him--McKay could just make out Sheppard’s eyes in the green light. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head a little as if trying to rattle the last bit of sleep out of it. His voice sounded muzzy, but McKay could still hear the confusion in it, and the tiny bit of annoyance. “Why didn’t you think I’d be sleeping?”

 _Because I wasn’t_ , McKay thought, but that hadn’t been great reasoning, in retrospect. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I lost track of the time.”

“S’okay,” Sheppard said, yawning. He rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t think I’ve been asleep very long. What time is it, anyway?”

McKay checked his watch. “About four-thirty AM,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay, really,” Sheppard said. But he yawned again, and McKay tried not to wince from the guilt. Sheppard blinked a few more times, obviously pulling himself into full alertness. “What is it?”

“I’ve got nothing,” McKay said. He clenched his hands at his sides, because he really wanted to bury his face in them. He was suddenly so tired that all he wanted to do was crawl next to Sheppard on the bed and sleep, but he couldn’t do that. There wasn’t time. He had to come up with something.

“I’ve got nothing,” he said again. He hated that his voice sounded helpless and weak, telegraphed so much of what he felt. “I can’t…” He heaved in a breath, closing his eyes. “There’s no way to contact Earth that we haven’t already tried. No way to go there and get back here. I can’t figure it out.” He shook his head, feeling almost stunned at his failure. “I’ve got nothing.”

“I was thinking, maybe we could put a hyperdrive engine on one of the jumpers--could we do that?” Sheppard asked, like he was offering a gift, and it was awful having to answer him.

“No,” McKay said. His eyes were still closed, but he could practically feel Sheppard’s disappointment. He shook his head. “I could _fix_ a hyperdrive, if we had one, but we don’t have the materials to actually make one from scratch. And hyperdrives are scarily unstable on small craft, anyway.” He knew that from his own experience at the SGC, when he had to rewrite code so that then-Colonel O’Neill could ostensibly kill himself for the good of humanity. “There’s no guarantee that you wouldn’t actually end up inside a star or something.”

“Oh,” Sheppard said, quietly.

“Yeah,” McKay said. He let his hands unclench--they were beginning to hurt--and opened his eyes. The green light pooled out along the floor, eerie and beautiful.

“Maybe the _Daedalus_ will contact us,” Sheppard said.

“Maybe,” McKay said. The ship was due to arrive in a little more than two weeks, but that was only if it had ever left Earth in the first place. And it had been scheduled to leave two days before they’d tried to dial the SGC.

They both knew they would never hear from the _Daedalus_ again.

The silence stretched out. He could hear Sheppard breathing.

“I should go,” McKay said. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Come here,” Sheppard said. And he lay back down on the bed, obviously waiting for him.

McKay didn’t even hesitate before he crossed the room, shucking his jacket as he went. He undid his boots and toed them off, then stretched out next to Sheppard so that they were lying face-to-face. The beds in Atlantis were annoyingly narrow, but they were both used to it--they’d slept like this more times than McKay could count.

McKay felt something inside relax ever so slightly, like it was suddenly easier to breathe.

“It’s going to be okay, Rodney,” Sheppard said. They were so close together that Sheppard’s features were blurring. His breath touched McKay’s face when he spoke.

“No, it’s not,” McKay said. “It’s not going to be okay. There’s no way it can be okay.” He tried to pull back, angry now, but Sheppard had his arms around him and he couldn’t. “The Milky Way Galaxy is _gone_. Earth is _gone_. Or, or even if it’s still there, something so terrible has happened that it’s affected the _entire Stargate system_ , and that’s almost the same thing.” He shook his head, bumping it against the mattress. “Don’t try to tell me it’s going to be okay! It’s not okay!” And he was sure the wetness in his eyes was from fury, not grief or despair, but when Sheppard pulled him still closer, he let him, and when Sheppard kissed him, long and slow and like comfort, McKay kissed him back.

“I know,” Sheppard said quietly, when they pulled apart.

“My cat’s dead,” McKay said. It was stupid. Jeannie was dead too-- _everyone_ he had ever known on Earth was probably dead--but his cat was the only thing he could think about. His cat made it somehow real.

“I know,” Sheppard said again.

“It’s all gone,” McKay said.

“I know,” Sheppard said, and held him in the dark.

***

"Rodney." Sheppard knew the hologram's lips were moving, forming the name, but he heard it through the intercom on McKay's desk, his voice manufactured by Atlantis. He had no lungs to speak with; he was made of light.

He hadn't lost the terror of that, not even in the week since he'd seen McKay in the infirmary and nearly destroyed it. Without the physiological aspects to give the emotion shape, it was like a constant chain-saw whine in the back of his head, loud and alien and raw. He wondered if it would ever go away, or if he would just have to get used to it; barely-controlled fear forever in his head. Like having form but no substance, or speaking without lungs.

There was still plenty of daylight and the sun was pouring through the windows into the room, casting a cheery glow on the framed degrees and awards, the tangled bed sheets and the pile of laundry in a forlorn heap of grays and olives and blues in one corner. The brightness seemed to emphasize the white of the gauze bandage covering McKay's destroyed eye, and the one on the other side of his face, near enough to the eye socket that Sheppard knew Beckett had thought McKay might lose that eye as well. As it was the skin around McKay's remaining eye was swollen nearly black with bruising, with only a thin slit for McKay to see out of. The tiny visible part of McKay's eye was dark from the blood that had collected there too.

"I locked my door for a reason." McKay barely moved his head enough to glance at Sheppard, but his tone was venomous. "Or is invading people's privacy part of your programming? John wouldn't do that, by the way." His words slurred slightly, the effects of exhaustion, injury and what he'd been drinking.

McKay was sitting at his desk. He had been staring out the window, taking long gulps of a large glass full of whisky, when Sheppard had appeared. It was his fourth--Sheppard had been watching him for awhile, before he'd formed the hologram.

"I would if I was worried about someone," Sheppard said. "…Or if Elizabeth told me to do it. She's worried about you, too, Rodney. We all are."

McKay just snorted and took another drink. He was flushed and sweating, which could have been just from the alcohol, but the room was almost unbearably hot. Sheppard used Atlantis to lower the temperature, thinking about calling Beckett, wondering if McKay had a fever. All he could tell with Atlantis' infrared sensors was that McKay's core temperature was hot, but he didn't know if it was abnormally high. "What are you doing? You just got out of the infirmary."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" McKay snapped. He raised the glass to his lips in a badly shaking hand and finished it in two quick swallows. He immediately grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and poured more into the glass. He spilled nearly half of it in jerking splashes.

"Flirting with alcohol poisoning," Sheppard said. He took a few steps closer to the desk. His hologram made no noise as it moved, and Sheppard felt nothing. He still had no idea how he could move at all and not feel it. Wasn't that like being paralyzed? But this body still did exactly what he wanted it to, like he was inhabiting it.

He stopped himself when he realized he'd been going to grab the bottle from McKay's hand. He couldn't do that anymore.

"If you must know," McKay said, sounding weary now. "I'm having a wake for Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard." He took another drink, holding the glass so tightly Sheppard wondered if it would crack, then set it down on the desk with exaggerated care. "Someone has to," he said softly.

"I'm not dead," Sheppard said.

"Elizabeth told me to… 'Get over myself,' I think. Though of course she said it much more kindly than that. Diplomatically," McKay said, ignoring Sheppard. "There are apparently too many people who really _did_ die to waste my energy mourning for someone who didn't. Think that's denial?" He pushed at his glass with his thumb, making it turn so that the amber liquid caught the light. "I think that's denial," he continued, agreeing with himself. "I think she knows he's dead and just can't bear to admit it." He gave a miserably humorless smirk and picked up the glass again. He drank from it, then wiped his upper lip. "I'm the only one who can admit it. Just me." He sighed, slow and drawn-out. "You didn't get to go to the funeral, or internment, or whatever," McKay said, staring resolutely at the liquid in his glass as if Sheppard wasn't even in the room. "It was kind of awkward, actually--everyone trying to say nice things about a body when they're all so fucking certain the rest of you is still alive and well." He smirked again. "It ended up feeling a little bit like when you're a kid and find a dead mouse on the sidewalk and bring it home and ask your mom to help you bury it. And your mom does because she loves you even though you're a weird, stupid kid, and it ends up being stilted and horrible. Not that you ever did that," he amended. "John did, I think," McKay said musingly. He was tilting the glass back and forth a little, making the whiskey sparkle in the light. "He seems the type to want to bury strange animals--hopelessly sentimental. Seemed the type," he corrected himself. "Seemed." McKay yanked the glass up to his lips, drinking almost frantically.

"You have to stop this," Sheppard said, feeling helpless, desperate. "You're going to make yourself sick." He alerted Beckett, sending a warning message in his own voice directly to the doctor's earpiece. He hated doing that--it felt somehow like he was betraying McKay--but McKay was overheated, probably dehydrated, certainly too weak to force his body to handle this kind of punishment.

"Shut up," McKay said mildly. "Reminiscing here." He put the glass back on the desk, using both hands to make sure it didn't tip. "We never talked about our childhoods much, actually," he said. "No reason to, I guess. Mine's basically pain and humiliation until I started university. Don't know about John's. Probably just as bad." He swallowed, and it looked like it hurt. "Wish I'd asked him, now."

"I'm here," Sheppard said. He wanted to shake McKay, wanted to smash his hand down on the table, throw something across the room, anything to break through and make McKay _see_ him, recognize him. But he couldn't. "I'll tell you anything. Anything you want."

And McKay did look at him: a slow, bleary tracking of his head. "His memories wouldn't mean anything, coming from you."

"God damn it, Rodney! They're _mine_!" The synthesized voice sounded far, far too calm, somehow, carrying only hints of the volcanic despair Sheppard was feeling. It was almost like McKay was the one who was dead--Sheppard was right there in the room, and he couldn't get to him.

McKay spun in his chair so he was looking at Sheppard face-on, his expression contorted with rage. " _You_ call me 'Dr. McKay' or 'Sir'. Got it? You do _not_ call me by my first name. _John Sheppard_ got to do that. Not you."

"I am John Sheppard!"

The door to McKay's quarters suddenly slammed open, so fast it gave a mechanical, screeching whine. McKay flinched visibly, then reeled, blinking heavily with his remaining eye.

"Sorry!" Sheppard said immediately, easing the door shut again. "I'm sorry."

But McKay was already shouting, not listening. " _Shut up_!" McKay grabbed the bottle off his desk and threw it one motion. It missed Sheppard by at least an arm's length and smashed into the framed PhD certificate from Northeastern University, shattering the bottle and the frame. "John is dead! He is _dead_ , and you are _nothing_! You get that? You finally get that?" McKay was standing now, vibrating with anger, hunched forward like he was preparing for a fight. "You are an algorithm, you are pieces of code, you are some Ancient's idea of a sad, pathetic _joke_ , but you are _not_ John. John is dead! He is dead! _HE IS DEAD_!" The glass followed the bottle, in a wider, wilder arc that came nowhere near Sheppard but splintered against the wall above McKay's bed. McKay scooped up his laptop after that, tried to throw it too, but he stumbled before it could leave his hands, and it just ended up falling to the floor as McKay dropped heavily to his knees.

Sheppard darted forward, automatically reaching for him. And of course the holographic hands went right through.

McKay cringed, though Sheppard knew he felt nothing. But McKay didn't move after that. Sheppard didn't know if he even could or not. He checked Beckett's whereabouts, gratified to see that he was almost at McKay's quarters.

"Get out," McKay said. His breath was short, rough gasps, his hands in trembling fists against his thighs. " _Get out_."

Sheppard turned his hologram off. There was nothing else he could do.

***

"And you're sure you can do this," Weir said to Beckett. "Because if you can't…" She took a breath, closed her eyes when she exhaled, and for just a fraction of a second Sheppard could see the stress she was under, the weight of it in the shift of her shoulders, and then Weir looked up and she was all cool lines of command. "We should join the evacuees at the Alpha site now."

"As I said, my people will not evacuate, Doctor Weir," Halling said, interrupting whatever Beckett was going to answer, and Sheppard blinked, startled--again--to see the man at the conference table instead of Teyla. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

He was still just trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was dead.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, Halling?" Weir asked, though Sheppard was sure that it was as much for diplomacy's sake as because she honestly thought Halling would. "There are fifteen Hive ships on their way here in less than six hours. If they find Atlantis destroyed, the first place they'll look for us is the Mainland." Her tone was strangely gentle. "You must know your people won't survive."

Halling nodded gravely, and the gesture made Sheppard miss Teyla so much it was like a physical pain. A tiny hiss of sound make him look across the table to where McKay was sitting next to Ronon, but McKay had turned his head away.

Ronon's face was like stone.

"We are aware of the risk, Doctor Weir," Halling said. "But we are staying."

"What?" McKay burst out. Sheppard couldn't blame him, though he didn't say anything himself. "You do know that there are _fifteen_ Hive ships on the way here, right? And that if…"--he glanced at Beckett, and the fragile-looking Villana sitting next to him--" _When_ we have to evacuate, there will be nothing here to distract the Wraith from the Mainland? Your _people_ are going to be fast-food for what--a zillion Wraith?"

"It has already been established that there will not be time for enough return trips from the Mainland to evacuate more than half the Athosians in any case, Doctor McKay," Halling said.

"So that means if you can't all go, none of you will?" McKay looked horrified. "You're going to _die_! Your entire people! Everyone!"

"Rodney," Weir admonished.

"Am I wrong?" Rodney asked. His eyes were caught somewhere between amazement and fury. "He's condemning his own people to death, Elizabeth! Teyla would never--"

"Rodney!" And this time Weir was all but shouting.

McKay shut his mouth, and Sheppard saw his jaw clenching until it looked like it had to hurt. McKay's eyes were like the blue points of knives, but he didn't speak again.

Halling's eyes hardened, an uncomfortably harsh change for his normally kind face. "Teyla is with the Ancestors," he said simply. "And as I told Doctor Weir the first time the Wraith were approaching, there is no place in this galaxy that is safe, so long as the Wraith hunger. We are weary of running. Our last stand will be here, in the city of the Ancestors."

"Our Earth Friends will destroy the city when they leave it," Shil Yana said quietly. She glanced at Weir, as if for confirmation, and Weir gave her a tiny, solemn nod.

Halling already knew that, of course.

"No," Halling said, staring straight at Weir. "Teyla may have agreed to that, the last time, but I do not. The Athosians do not. We will not allow you to destroy the city."

Sheppard watched Weir's features tighten with a kind of tired fascination. They didn't have time for this and she knew it. He was about to say as much when she spoke again.

"As both myself and Doctor McKay have pointed out," Weir said, "there are fifteen Hive ships on their way here. Even if I could concede to your wishes, the Wraith plan to annihilate Atlantis. There will be nothing left for you to defend."

"So you say," Halling said, and his tone made it obvious that he didn't believe her. "We hold that the Ancestors will return before that happens."

"I do not think that happened last time," Zelenka said with mild sarcasm, before McKay could.

"This is wasting time," Ronon said, finally speaking. His voice was like tumbling gravel. "If they want to stay, let them." He shrugged. "Less mouths to feed at the Alpha site." He was still wearing the same shirt he'd been in when he carried Teyla's body through the gate. Sheppard could see the dark red, like rust, that started over his heart and soaked all the way down.

Weir shot him a quelling glare, but Ronon just looked steadily back.

"Look," Beckett said suddenly, sounding both anxious and exasperated, "if the gene therapy works, and if Aren Lev Nent's people can use it to contact the Wraith the way Teyla could, no one will have to evacuate."

"That's a lot of 'ifs',” Sheppard said.

"Aye," Beckett said simply. "But right now it's the best chance we've got."

"We are fairly confident that Teyla's Wraith genes will allow us to convince the Wraith to go back into hibernation," Aren Lev Nent said. The Villana's voice was soft and subdued, the same way all the few telepathic Villana spoke, as if they were constantly trying to keep everyone's voices down. It made it that much more impossible to tell if Aren was male or female.

"Great, voodoo science and telepathy will save the day," McKay muttered. "Why am I not overflowing with optimism here?" He bent his head, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, and Sheppard could practically feel his tension from across the room.

"Certain or not, Rodney, it's the best and _only_ chance we have," Weir said, looking at all of them. "And right now I'm willing to take it." She looked back at Beckett and Aren. "How long will you need?"

Beckett looked like that was precisely the question he was hoping she wouldn't ask. "At least four days to isolate Teyla's Wraith genes and create a proper virus carrier for them." He didn't mention that the genetic material would be coming from Teyla's corpse. He didn't have to. "And the necessary testing--"

"--We've got two days," McKay snapped. "Maybe two and a half before the shield fails completely under the onslaught of that number of ships. Probably less if they do that kamikaze thing with the darts again."

Beckett looked stricken. "I can't make it work in less time!"

"Well, what do you expect me to _do_ , Carson?" Rodney shot back, "Ask the Wraith if they wouldn't mind not shooting at us while…" He trailed off, then suddenly blinked and held up his index finger. "Wait," he said, then stood, turning to Zelenka. "Meet me in the room with the control chair in half an hour." He grabbed up his laptop, striding out of the room. "If you'll excuse us, Elizabeth," he said, "I need the Colonel to help me with something."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose, then he stood. "Elizabeth?"

She nodded. "Go. The briefing's adjourned. Rodney," she called after him, since he was already nearly out of the room, being closely followed by Zelenka, "keep me apprised."

"Apprised, right." Rodney lifted a hand to show he'd heard, then disappeared through the door.

Sheppard hustled after him, feeling the tiniest stir of hope.

***

It was weird, not having a body anymore. Had he given it any thought (and he was emphatically doing his best _not_ to think about it), Sheppard would have guessed that he would miss his senses most. But he could see through the myriad of Atlantis' optical sensors and cameras (for security and otherwise), and hear through the auditory sensors and the comm chatter (and even, in a way, through the IM of Atlantis' intranet, if he concentrated his attention there).

He could ‘hear’ Zelenka reporting to Dr. Weir in the main conference room, which had become a communications hub during the crisis. Zelenka had just reported the impact on the chair room and answered Weir's frantic questions with, "I can't tell. The sensors may be damaged in that area. Or…there may _be_ no life signs. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I will attempt to reroute the shield controls to this workstation."

Sheppard heard Weir order Major Lorne to send a search party to the chair room to find out the extent of the damage. He watched Weir's grim face, watched Zelenka jump as Pol Osri--the PerAn chief enforcer who had attached himself like a silent, hulking shadow to Dr. Weir these last few days--touched his shoulder before shoving a cup of coffee-like-beverage into his hand. Sheppard absently followed the progress of Zelenka's little program, trying to wrest control of the shield away from the no-longer-functioning chair.

The comm system allowed Sheppard to hear Major Lorne reporting that Lieutenant Cadman's team had found the chair room in rubble--luckily no Wraith had transported in yet--and had called for medical backup. The medteam had extracted Doctor McKay, badly injured, and had found Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard's dead body.

Sheppard watched Weir's face blanch and heard her breath still at the news, and listened to the utter silence from Lorne's end that meant the Major was holding his breath as well. A few beats later, Weir's voice barely wavered as she exhaled and said, in a flat voice, "Well, then, Major, it looks like we’ll have to…do our best to carry on."

Sheppard found time strangely stretched out. He could think _faster_ now than he ever could before, and he could think of many hundreds of things _simultaneously_ , if he tried. But that was in his head--wherever his head _was_ , now. In the real world, the lag between thought and action seemed very, very long.

So while protecting Atlantis by using his new abilities to keep control of the shield and maximize its efficiency was relatively easy, requiring only a fraction of his attention, and the actual decision to contact Weir and reassure her that he was still around was made fairly quickly, waiting around to have the opportunity to speak to her alone seemed to take forever. He finally decided that he wasn't going to get that opening, seeing as Atlantis was still in crisis-mode, and Weir was the communications epicenter. Sheppard took his chance when Weir was momentarily left alone with Zelenka and Osri.

 **Elizabeth**. He IM'ed on her computer screen. **It's John Sheppard. Don't panic, but I'm not really dead**. Damn. She wasn't looking at the screen.

He tried Zelenka next. **Dr. Zelenka. Hey, Radek. It's Sheppard! I'm not dead. I've been uploaded into Atlantis somehow. Tell Elizabeth to look at her computer screen**.

Zelenka read the message, then looked angrier than Sheppard ever remembered seeing. **Ha. Ha. Very funny** , Zelenka typed into his IM client. **Stop with sick jokes, whoever you are, and let me get back to critical saving-Atlantis activities. If McKay finds out who you are, he will personally remove your balls, BTW. And don't think I won't help him!**

Okay, Zelenka wouldn't be any help. Sheppard concentrated on Elizabeth's currently ongoing conversation over the comm. Of course, the comm!

"My apologies, Shil Yana, please allow me to interrupt for a moment. Elizabeth? It's John Sheppard."

"John?" Weir shot up out of her chair, her eyes wide and unseeing, all her attention focused on the voice coming out of her comm. Sheppard felt like an odd kind of voyeur, watching her like that. "John! I was told you were dead."

"I'm not dead yet," Sheppard said, trying to reassure her. "I'm feeling better."

"Oh, so you don't want to go on the cart?" A thin, brittle thread of humor wove into Weir's relieved voice, as she lobbed the Monty Python back at him.

"I feel fine," Sheppard agreed. "I think I'll go for a walk. Or rather, I'd like you to go for a walk."

"Where, John?" asked Weir, her voice even and reasonable. Sheppard greatly admired her calm, especially under the circumstances.

"Doctor Weir," interrupted Zelenka. "I have been unable to assume control over the shields. Something anomalous is interfering with my program to take control from the chair room. This should not be possible. I am a better programmer than Rodney, even though he will not admit it--"

"Elizabeth. Ask Dr. Zelenka if the shield is protecting Atlantis from the kamikaze darts."

Weir repeated Sheppard's question. Both of Zelenka's eyebrows climbed his forehead as he studied the readout on his laptop's screen and nodded slowly. " _Jak_? How is this possible?"

_"Tell him I'm doing it, Elizabeth. The IM from before wasn't a sick joke. Look on your computer screen. I've been…uploaded into Atlantis, somehow._

_"Really?" Weir's voice sounded intrigued. "Something like that happened at the SGC, if I remember correctly. General O'Neil's consciousness was briefly uploaded into an Asgard ship…"_

_"Hey, cool!" Suddenly, Sheppard didn't feel so freakish anymore. "So, when we get back into contact with Earth, they'll be able to fix this."_

_"Sure, when we get back into contact with Earth." Weir was agreeing with him, but her flat tone told Sheppard what she thought of the chances of that happening anytime soon._

_"Well, until then, being this way is mighty useful," Sheppard said, resolutely cheerful. "Zelenka, take a look at the power consumption levels on your computer screen. What do you think? I'm being way more efficient with the power distribution for the shields than we could be before. We might be able to get another day or two out of them, right?"_

_"I believe you are correct." Zelenka was studying the data with a little frown grooving his forehead. He looked up, eyes searching the ceiling. "Colonel Sheppard, please forgive me for doubting you earlier."_

_"No problem, Radek. Look, I know you're busy, but if you and Elizabeth have just a minute, I'd like to show you something."_

_"Of course, John." Weir was already stepping away from her desk. She glanced at Osri._

_"It's okay for Pol Osri to come as well, Elizabeth. I don't mind, if he doesn't. Hey, Osri!"_

_"Sheppard." Osri nodded, looking around the room as if he could spot Sheppard's ghost. "I am pleased that you are not dead."_

_"Oh, me too!" Sheppard agreed enthusiastically. "Listen, Elizabeth, Radek. Do you remember the holograph room from when we first came to Atlantis?"_

_"With the hologram of the Ancient woman, yes?" Zelenka nodded._

_"Right! Meet me there. Sheppard out."_

_Of course, he wasn't really ‘out’ in any real way. He could still see/hear/sense them, as he was aware of _everyone_ in the city, even as he concentrated on making his idea work. He was aware of Weir's party as they made their way to the holograph room, and of Major Lorne, Halling, and Shil Yana as they joined Weir and she explained the situation to them._

And of McKay, being prepped for surgery in the infirmary. But that was another thing he wasn’t going to think about.

"You don't mind, do you, John?" Weir said quietly into her comm, perhaps realizing more about Sheppard's situation than he'd given her credit for.

"Of course not, Elizabeth," Sheppard murmured into her ear. "The more, the merrier. It will help convince them faster, and we can all get over how weird it is and start using it to our advantage." Especially since it was only temporary. He was sure of that.

The group entered the holograph room and paused just inside the doorway. Sheppard brought up the lights dimly within the room. Inside the space where the Ancient woman's hologram had once welcomed the first exploration team from Earth to Atlantis, a softly glowing blue hologram of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard stood, dressed in his usual fatigues and black t-shirt. Sheppard checked the hologram’s details from the room’s video monitors: wristband and watch on each wrist, cow-licked hair standing straight up as per usual, hands on his hips, and one eyebrow raised, smirk firmly in place. Perfect.

Hologram Sheppard spread his arms wide. "What do you think?" His voice came over all their headsets, but it matched the movement of his blue, holographic lips. Sheppard found the hologram almost ridiculously easy to manipulate to reflect his thoughts and expressions.

"Later on, after we're out of crisis mode, I can activate the other holographic projectors--they’re all over Atlantis," he told them. "It will be easier for most people to interact with me if they have something to look at." Hologram Sheppard peered down at one pale blue arm and frowned thoughtfully. "I can actually make it so I'll look more realistic, but that would use up a bit more power than I'm comfortable squandering right now."

"S-Sir? Colonel?" Lorne's eyes were very wide.

"Hiya, Major," Hologram Sheppard waved nonchalantly. "Listen, Major, Dr. Weir tells me the SGC had something like this happen with General O'Neil and an Asgard ship."

"Oh," Lorne blinked a moment. "Yeah, they did, actually. I guess we can't let SG-1 trump Atlantis on the Strange-O-Meter, can we?" He grinned suddenly.

Hologram Sheppard grinned in return and rocked back and forth on his heels.

Halling’s words seemed to burst out of him. “Our prayers! The Ancestors be praised! You have come back, Sheppard--come back to defend the city of the Ancestors from the Wraith.”

“Well, I’ll definitely try to do that, Halling,” Sheppard said, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I am pleased that the Ancestors have granted you this boon, Sheppard," Shil Yana intoned gravely, spoiling the pompousness of the statement with a sweet smile.

Sheppard had the hologram smile at her, feeling a little weird. They were all treating him so formally, like he was somehow _special_ , now. It wasn't like he was Superman, all of a sudden. He was the same as he'd always been, just… in a new environment.

He allowed the holographic face to twitch into a frown as his attention was caught by something. "Listen--Zelenka, Lorne, make sure power usage throughout the city is strictly limited to emergency systems only. _This_ ," with a wave of a holographic hand, he indicated the glowing blue body, "has got to go for now. It's taking too much juice. But I'm still around, okay? I haven't abandoned you. I _won't_ abandon you."

"We understand, John," Weir said gravely. Zelenka nodded, clutching his laptop to his chest. Next to him, Pol Osri frowned gravely and inclined his head.

Lorne straightened to attention and saluted. "Sir!"

Hologram Sheppard nodded and saluted in return.

"Defender of Atlantis, we depend on you," Shil Yana told him. "Our Friends," she glanced at the others, "we believe in you.”

“Ancestors, we remember you," Halling added, arms raised, and Shil nodded.

"Amen," said Zelenka softly. Sheppard had the hologram gave a thumbs-up before the Defender of Atlantis winked out of their sight.

***

"I swear to _God_ Webber--"

"Weswen, Sir."

"--Whatever, that if you don't stop singing 'So This Is Christmas' under your breath _right now_ , I'm going to plant a bomb in your quarters and rig it to explode the next time you jerk off.”

Webber/Weswen stopped his murmured crooning with an abruptness that was wholly satisfying, but the other one--Lem Zharna if he remembered correctly, which he probably didn’t--just grinned like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, though McKay doubted he knew precisely what ‘jerk off’ meant. Well, it was easy enough to guess.

"Is he always like that?" Lem asked Ronon.

Ronon, who had been pushing through the thick snow with the truculent air of a wet cat, didn't even glance Lem's way before he answered.

"Nope. Sometimes he's worse."

Succinct as always. McKay had to smile.

Weswen, possibly to distract himself before he started singing again, clapped his mittened hands together and shivered theatrically. "Damn, it's cold!" he said. Gouts of steam gusted out of his mouth with every word. The four of them were covered head-to-toe in PerAn winter campaign military gear, so white and bulky that McKay privately thought they looked like angry snowmen. The black of their P-90s and packs stood out in almost painful relief against the white-on-white of their uniforms against the snow, and McKay found his eye constantly fastening on Ronon's backpack, despite how often he wrenched it away to his scanner or the horizon. Luckily the sky was overcast and grey, or he thought they might all risk becoming snow-blind.

Of course, the overcast sky meant they risked being trapped in a blizzard, but their destination wasn't all that far, and they had more than enough supplies to last the night or even longer, if necessary. Ronon had promised. Several times.

McKay thought about saying something like, 'thank you so much for pointing that out--it's really cold, huh?' Or, 'wow, you Marines are observant! I’m so glad you came along!' Or possibly even threatening Weswen with some kind of bodily harm if he didn't just _shut up_ for a few minutes. But it _was_ damn cold. Cold enough that McKay was worried that talking too much would crack the enamel on his teeth, despite the thick scarf that was wrapped up to his ears. Besides, it was rough going, slogging through the almost thigh-high snow, and it was probably better to just save his breath.

If it had been Sheppard, though, McKay would have said something anyway, despite the temperature and the effort--and for sure Sheppard would have remarked on how cold it was, probably several times--but McKay didn't know the two soldiers whom Ronon had chosen for this mission. He had no idea if Weswen was purposely baiting him or just being stupid. Snapping at him wouldn't have been any fun.

So McKay just grunted steam out into the ice-laden air and didn't say anything, his eye on the black jut of Ronon's back as McKay trudged after him through the snow, occasionally telling him which direction to take when Ronon looked over his shoulder at him.

Ronon didn’t say anything either. Not that that had ever been unusual for him.

McKay didn’t leave Atlantis much anymore, not as much as he would have liked, but whenever he joined Ronon’s team, the other two members were always different. McKay never asked, but he was certain it was because Ronon didn’t want to commit to any other team-members, as if having a new, permanent group of four would be somehow disloyal to the team they had been. When Teyla was alive, and Sheppard…

Well, Ronon thought Sheppard was still alive, just unable to leave the city. But still. If Ronon couldn’t have Teyla and Sheppard with him, McKay figured, he wasn’t going to choose anyone else.

McKay supposed he should think that was stupid.

"How much farther, Doctor McKay?" Lem asked. He was wearing goggles under his white, PerAn toque, and with his scarf covering the rest of his face he was completely unrecognizable. The only reason McKay didn’t mistake him for Weswen was the PerAn accent.

"Not far now," McKay muttered. He smiled to himself, though of course there was no way in hell Lem could have ever gotten the reference, and probably would have been too young to anyway, even if he’d been born in Canada instead of an entirely different galaxy. "We’re close," he said, more loudly. He gestured at Ronon with his chin, though the two soldiers probably couldn't see it. "According to this," he hefted his scanner and waggled it, "it should just be over the next rise--"

"I think it is," Ronon said. But McKay was too busy blinking to answer him.

"Wow," Weswen said. "That's big."

Lem stepped up beside McKay, his head jerking woodenly as he nodded. He said something too low for McKay to hear, but was probably filthy.

"I thought it was going to be _in_ the mountain," McKay said quietly.

It _was_ the mountain. The place they had come here to find was an entire mountain--seemingly endless spires of metal and glass, rising like the fingers of gods out of the perfect white of the snow.

~~~

McKay had been sure that they would need some kind of special code to get in, or that the entrance would be booby-trapped, or buried under kilometers of ice. Something--anything--that would make it impossible, or at least exceedingly difficult. When Lem, taking point, just walked right up to the outer wall and stood there as it simply slid aside, McKay felt disappointed, almost betrayed. Somehow the ease of the whole thing lessened the significance, the weight of the moment.

"Huh," grunted Ronon, as Weswen swore much more vociferously than Lem had. McKay watched Lem walk into the cavernous entranceway, his P-90 carefully pointed. Ronon went in afterwards, gun drawn, then McKay, Weswen following behind.

The room--God, it was like a _cathedral_ \--lit up like a sun as soon as Lem stepped across the threshold.

McKay turned around and around, staring up at the ceiling, so far above them that it seemed to replace the sky. It was bright gold, delicately rounded. McKay couldn't help thinking that it was like they were looking up at the inside of an egg, and he wondered if there was any significance to that.

"This place goes on _forever_ ," Weswen breathed. He had opened his parka, and was unwinding his scarf. His toque was already off, as were his goggles. McKay blinked, looking at him. He had become so used to the anonymous white that he'd almost forgotten that any of them had real bodies under the snowsuits, or faces. When Weswen smiled he looked so much like Ford it was startling.

"Where're the ZPMs?" Ronon asked, all purpose and no wonder, as usual.

McKay scowled at him, though it was halfhearted. Ronon was right--it would take lifetimes to look around this place, and they hadn't come here just to explore. All the same, McKay glanced wistfully at the banks of consoles he might never even get to look at, before marching over to the nearest one, shedding layers of winter gear as he went. When he was down to his snow pants and sweater, he touched the console experimentally, gratified when it lit up under his palms. He scanned the Ancient text on the screen then guessed his way through a few commands before pulling up a blueprint for the facility.

"Here," he said, pointing at the screen. His mouth stretched into a slow, wide smile. "The ZPMs are here."

"Cool," Weswen said.

"What is this place?" Lem asked. He’d come up to the console, on the other side of Weswen. He’d also removed his gear, and his brown hair was sticking up all over from pulling off his toque. It made McKay a little sad. Lem was staring at the console as if he'd be able to understand the Ancient, if he just looked at the symbols long enough. "It's the size of Atlantis."

"I think it's similar to our city," McKay agreed, nodding as he studied the intersecting lines of the diagram. "We already know that the Ancients built more than one Atlantis-type city ship, so it's conceivable that they had other cities based on different designs. But, ah, I don't think this is just a city," he added, studying the screen.

"Yeah?" Ronon said, now standing next to McKay. McKay glanced at him to see him shaking out his dreadlocks, scattering drops of melted snow from where the toque hadn't covered them completely. McKay wasn't sure if Ronon really cared or not about what McKay had said. "What is it?"

"Well," McKay said, pointing at the screen, " _most_ of it is a city. It’s just that some of it is for…other things.”

“Like what?” Ronon asked. He seemed as interested in taking off his parka as in McKay’s answer.

McKay sighed inwardly. Sheppard would have been beside himself with curiosity by now. He probably would have told McKay to stop with the theatrics already and get on with it. And then McKay would have made a great show of annoyance at being rushed, and Sheppard would…

It didn’t matter. Sheppard wasn’t there.

“It’s a factory,” McKay said dully, feeling almost none of the enthusiasm of just a moment before. He pointed at the screen, to a different area from where he had just indicated. “It takes up the majority of the structure, here.” He touched the screen where he’d shown Lem the ZPMs. “That’s just a storage area.”

“Pretty big,” Ronon said, his eyes traveling over the display.

“If it’s a factory,” Lem said, crowding Weswen, “what does it make? Spaceships?”

The question was so stupid that it had McKay smiling again, at least a little.

Sheppard would have asked something like that, just to rile him. For a moment it was almost like he was there, instead of the two soldiers McKay barely knew. McKay could practically imagine it--Sheppard looking over McKay’s shoulder, hiding his delight in sarcasm and purposely-dumb questions, while McKay retorted that he knew Sheppard would light up once they found the weapons.

“It’s Pavlovian,” McKay said quietly, because it almost worked in response to Lem’s idiocy, and because he would have said it to Sheppard.

Lem just stared at him, so McKay gave him a mild glower, then pointed at the much-smaller storage area again. “No, it does not make spaceships,” he said. “It makes _those_.” He tapped the screen for emphasis. _Don’t play dumb, Colonel. I know you could have joined MENSA_. “We’re in a factory that makes ZPMs.”

***

McKay sat on one of the examination tables in the infirmary, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. A nurse was stitching up his shoulder, where a piece of shrapnel had sliced him while he'd been trying to protect Teyla--he hadn't even felt it at the time. The nurse had given him some kind of injection, right into the wound, and he'd barely felt that, either.

He thought he might be in a little bit of shock.

The others--Beckett and what was left of McKay's team--were elsewhere in the infirmary. Ronon and Sheppard would need medical exams, which was standard practice for all teams returning from off-world. The prisoners too. McKay had already seen the two men who had been captured with Sora being escorted away by a pair of grim-faced Marines. He supposed it made sense to take care of the prisoners first, get them out of the way.

McKay was hoping that Beckett was doing the checkups for Ronon and Sheppard now, though, before he looked after Sora, gave her any painkillers for her smashed jaw. He supposed that was cruel.

Teyla--Teyla's _body_ \--was still lying on the gurney the med team had used to take her from the gate room, back when they had still thought that she could somehow be saved. Even McKay, who had sung to Teyla as she choked and bled and died, had stood there, breathless with hope, as Beckett's team had intubated her, and started CPR. But Teyla hadn't come back.

"Almost finished, Dr. McKay," the nurse said.

McKay nodded, feeling the nurse's touch on his back to still him. It was strange, being aware of the needle going through his skin, the suture thread pulling after it, but only as pressure, without any pain to go with it. All of him felt like that, really: pressure, but no pain. The grief hadn't set in yet, it was too new.

Teyla had been alive less than half an hour ago. And now she wasn't. She had been smart, and graceful, and strong, and funny, and kind, and dangerous, and beautiful, and all that had happened was that they had stepped through the gate to a supposedly friendly planet and now her blood was soaking his clothes, had stained his hands, and she was nothing anymore. Gone.

They had put a white sheet over her. Part of it was turning red.

"Rodney."

McKay lifted his face to look up at Dr. Weir. "Elizabeth," he acknowledged. He felt infinitely weary, he realized, like he could just keel over and sleep on the hard table, shirtless, blood-covered and all.

"John told me you tried to help her," Weir said, as if it wasn't obvious, with Teyla's blood still on his hands.

But McKay just nodded, too tired and numb to snap at her, to say anything.

"John and Ronon are fine," Weir added, as if that wasn't obvious, too. Because McKay had _seen_ them, right after the firefight. He was the only one who had been hit with anything. Besides Teyla.

"Physically, anyway," McKay said. He had seen both their faces, after all, seen Ronon backhand Sora like the blow had been a mercy. And Sheppard's eyes, so full of frozen rage they had barely seemed human.

And maybe Sora deserved to die for that--not just for Teyla's loss, but for what was replacing it.

"I don't even know why she did it," he blurted. He had his hands gripped around the edge of the table now. "I mean, we'd just stepped through the gate! We'd just stepped through! Teyla didn't even know Sora was there." He was sure his eyes were too wide, like a child's, begging Weir for answers he knew she couldn't possibly have. But he couldn't help it--he had never been good at controlling or hiding his emotions. "Teyla saved her life! Why would Sora do that?"

"I don't know, Rodney," Weir said. She was rubbing her forehead, a small motion with the fingers of her right hand. "Maybe it was revenge. Maybe she never stopped blaming Teyla for the death of her father."

"Revenge," McKay said, like he'd never heard the word before. It made no sense to him. He couldn't imagine hating anyone that much. Sora was willing to die, so long as Teyla died first. God, Sora had gotten what she wanted then, hadn't she? He wondered if she was _happy_.

"They're all insane," McKay whispered. "They're all fucking _insane_."

Weir didn't answer him. But really, what could she say to that, he knew. What the hell could she say?

The sudden shout from the other end of the infirmary made him and Weir snap up at the same time. The nurse jumped, yanking on the thread, and the jolt of it almost hurt.

 _Help me! Get her over! Turn her over_!

Weir and McKay shared their shocked astonishment, then Weir started jogging towards Beckett's voice.

McKay slid off the table to follow her, but was caught short by the tight pull in his shoulder.

"Wait!" The nurse said. She was leaning over the table, arm outstretched and still holding the needle in a pair of forceps. "I'm not finished yet!"

"Let go!" McKay snarled at her. He gestured sharply in the direction Weir had just gone. "They need help! Let _go_!" He gave a violent shrug of his shoulder anyway, and heard the nurse yelp. He felt something that might have been a tear in his skin, maybe from too-tight thread, and then definitely what were forceps dangling against his back, but he didn't care. All he could think of was that maybe Sora had somehow smuggled back a weapon--a bomb or something--and if he didn't go _now_ and turn it off or diffuse it, almost everyone else he cared about was going to die.

So he ran, with no shirt and unfinished stitches and a thread and needle and forceps dangling down his back. And he burst into the main examination room and saw Sheppard and Ronon and one of the Marines holding Sora face-down on the MRI table, and she was still struggling--which was amazing--trying to shout even though her jaw was broken. And what McKay could make out of her slurring, pain and rage-mottled words was that yes, this was all about revenge--revenge for her father, revenge for Kolya, and Cowen--and that she was glad she was going to kill them all.

And then Beckett started slicing into her back, and Sora's voice slid up into incoherent screaming, and Weir tried to shout over Sora, to insist that Beckett stop, that he give Sora something for pain, and Sheppard shouted back that they didn't have _time_ , and then Sora finally fainted and Beckett was holding up a small, blood-streaked device that had been sutured into Sora's back.

And Sheppard looked at Beckett who nodded and said, "yes, that's like the one I pulled out of Ronon."

And McKay watched, fists clenched around Teyla's blood, as Weir gasped, and Beckett dropped the device onto the floor like it was burning and stomped on it, smashing it with his heel. But it was too late, it was already too late. Sora had been inside the city for at least an _hour_ …

He tapped his radio, and his hand was shaking.

"Radek?" McKay said, and then had to swallow, because his voice was too small. "Radek, I need you to check the deep-space sensors. Now."

***

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" McKay bellowed angrily as Pol Osri's men literally dragged him out of his lab and down the hall. He twisted in their arms, but there were four of them, and they were too strong. He flung a look over his shoulder behind him. Dr. Kusanagi peered worriedly at him around the edge of door of the lab, hand over her mouth. Dr. Simpson was talking urgently with someone over her comm. Rodney hoped she was getting help for him.

"Silence, McKay," barked the tall, craggy-faced PerAn man--Pol Nartis or Narfus or something, one of Osri's cousins--leading the way in front of McKay and his escort. "We are simply Enforcing the will of _Tal_ Weir," Pol N-whatever informed him. "It was her command that you flouted when you assisted Lorne in the planning of this venture. We merely take you into custody to await your punishment."

"Oh," McKay sneered. "So you're _insane_ , then. Right! I'll put it in small words so that your deranged, itty-bitty mind can comprehend. Let. Me. Go! You have _no_ authority to--"

"I said _SILENCE_!" Pol roared, as he turned and raised his arm to backhand McKay. McKay hated himself for his cowardice, but he shrank away anyway, as far as the crushing grips of his captors would allow. It hadn't been long enough since… that day, for the bruising to completely fade. His face was still tender, and bandages still swathed the place where his left eye had been. He flinched in anticipation of pain.

Only the blow never landed. A flash of green light coordinated perfectly with Pol's howl of pain, and the shouts of the escort as all four men were flung off him simultaneously. McKay swayed for a moment, regaining his balance, then straightened cautiously to face Pol N-whoever's glare as the man cradled his hand to his chest.

"What?" McKay demanded. "I didn't do that."

"No. I did."

McKay's vision grayed for a moment as Sheppard's voice--the Defender's voice now--came over all their headsets. Suddenly the hologram of the Defender, looking just as Sheppard had in the days before his death, appeared in the hall with them. The hologram put its hands on its hips and glowered. "You are not to harm Doctor McKay, Pol Narthus. I forbid it."

Pol Narthus and his goons all bowed to the hologram, hands (Pol's possibly broken) over their hearts. "My ap-pologies, D-defender," stammered Pol. "It was--Osri said--McKay has _defied the will of Tal Weir_!" That last part was almost a wail.

"And you're allowed to escort him into custody for Elizabeth to deal with," said the hologram, voice reasonable, but face grim. "But you are not _ever_ to harm him. You are not even to _touch_ him, do you understand?" The hologram's eyes narrowed, glaring at Pol Narthus.

The PerAn bowed again, more deeply. "We understand and obey, Defender."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded McKay, suddenly out of patience with it all.

"Saving your butt, Rodney," the hologram smirked.

"Okay, okay, _Dr. McKay_ ," it placated immediately, obviously aware of McKay's rising blood pressure, perhaps because of the redness McKay was sure it could see in his face, or the throbbing of the vein in his temple. "Look, McKay,” it said. “I've complied with your wishes. I've stayed away. I haven't even monitored you. And look what's happened. You’ve been conspiring against Elizabeth, and these guys were gonna beat the shit out of you for opening your big mouth again. If Simpson hadn't thought to call me--"

McKay found himself shaking and sputtering, jabbing his finger at the hologram. "Stop. Stop right there! I am _not_ , and never have been, conspiring against _Elizabeth Weir_! What the hell is going on around here? Is everybody completely _insane_? I am peacefully doing my _work_ \--very important work, I might add--when these goons come and _drag me out of my lab_ \--"

The hologram folded its arms across its chest and tilted its head. "Oh? The ordnance Lorne used? Did it manufacture itself? And it was somebody _else_ who helped Lorne plan that strike against the Yu-lash and the Genii that he and his troops are on right now? Which Elizabeth didn't authorize, and you know it. She's spitting mad, McKay! I wouldn't be surprised if she has you thrown in the brig for a month and cuts out your desserts for a _year_. Dammit, Ro—McKay--!"

Despite himself, McKay snorted, temper suddenly assuaged. "I seriously doubt she would resort to something so ridiculous. And I was assisting in a legitimate request from the military head of Atlantis. Elizabeth herself put him in charge."

"Even you don't believe that bullshit, McKay," the hologram accused. Suddenly, it tilted its head, as if it was really listening to something. The verisimilitude was actually very good. "Okay, Lorne's team is coming back through the gate. I better make sure nobody mistreats them either. Listen, McKay, do me--no, do _Elizabeth_ \--a favor, and let Pol Narthus and his friends here escort you to the brig. If you go relatively quietly, Elizabeth and I will try to get this straightened out."

"Yes, fine," McKay waved a hand, scowling. "But I want somebody to explain to me this whole _Tal_ business, and why these PerAn feel like they have the right to haul me out of my own lab. And--!" He held up an imperious finger. "And, what did you do to get them to release me, anyway?"

The hologram grinned, and McKay felt another stab of yearning to see that expression on the real Sheppard's face--just once more, just once. "Remember the personal shield? That was just a portable model, for going off-world. It turns out that Atlantis can do the same thing, if I ask her nicely. I'm going to leave it on you for a little while, to make sure that you're safe while these fine gentlemen escort you to the brig."

The hologram turned to Pol Narthus and his men, frowning impressively. "You can take him along, now. Remember, though, he's under my personal protection. Both Dr. Weir and I would be extremely displeased if he came to the least harm."

The PerAn bowed. "As you will, Defender," said Pol Narthus, echoed by the other PerAn.

The hologram nodded, then waved to McKay. "I'll see you in a little while, McKay!"

"Wait! What about--" McKay sighed as the hologram popped out of sight. That was certainly a conversation-stopper. He knew that the Defender-program could be accessed from anywhere in Atlantis and, in fact, that he could hold a conversation with it over his comm. But that would feel too much like talking to the real John Sheppard. McKay sighed again and looked around at his now-subdued escort. He snapped his fingers at them impatiently. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

He had to suppress a snicker as two of them instinctively reached to take his arms again and the green flare of the shield indicated that he really was untouchable. He shook his head at them. "Stop being idiots. You, and you," he pointed. "Go get my laptop and my notes. Dr. Simpson will know what I need. I might as well get some work done while this ridiculous charade plays out. Well? What are you waiting for? Go, go!" He made shooing motions at the men.

They looked uncertainly between him and Pol Narthus before nodding jerkily and dashing back in the direction of the lab. McKay turned and faced Pol, waving an arm in invitation. "After you." Pol nodded to him, cradling his hand to his chest as he took the lead down the hall.

His remaining escort surrounding him, Rodney McKay strode, chin up, towards the brig.

~~~

"It's not fair," Ronon growled, pacing restlessly up and down the hall. "I should be in there with them."

"Don't tell me you want to be in the _brig_ , Ronon." Sheppard shook his head, placing his hologram in Ronon's path. Although theoretically he could have walked right through, Ronon stopped short. He was quite good at helping maintain the illusion that Sheppard was still physically present. Sheppard understood that it was Ronon's way of showing respect and consideration, and he appreciated it, but he wasn't above using it when necessary.

"I was there, too! I helped plan the strike. I helped carry it out. It was just as much my responsibility as theirs," Ronon said stubbornly.

"Well, _I'm_ glad that the PerAn don't hold you responsible and that you're out here helping me figure out a way to get McKay and Lorne out of this mess, instead of being in the mess with them."

Ronon reluctantly nodded his agreement and sighed as he leaned on the wall of the corridor. "It's just…Sheppard, this is not the kind of mess I'm much help with. This is a _talking_ kind of mess." Ronon scrunched his forehead pitifully.

"Yeah, I know. It's not exactly my area of expertise, either," Sheppard agreed, mirroring Ronon's posture against the opposite side of the corridor. "This would normally be the kind of thing I'd hand off to Elizabeth, only this time Elizabeth's part of the problem. I'm not sure what's going on with the PerAn and all this _Tal_ crap, but it's obviously really important to them, and it's freaking her out."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "And if Weir isn't any help?"

"Well, then, ordinarily my instinct would've had me asking…" Sheppard grimaced, unable to finish the sentence.

Ronon swallowed. "I miss Teyla, too." His hand curled into a fist and he looked away.

Sheppard looked away as well, letting Ronon have a moment. His hologram frowned as he did a quick status check of all the inhabited areas of Atlantis with his sensors, including the inside of the interrogation room, where Weir was managing to be civil, even if she was stiff with anger, and McKay was at least indulging in mulish silence rather than ranting. Looking at Lorne's stone face and McKay's mutinous scowl, Sheppard didn't think the answer lay in that room. Everyone there was completely convinced that they were in the right, and nobody would budge. Sheppard also didn't like the restlessness and the comments he was overhearing from the PerAn all over Atlantis. He and Weir had perhaps erred in welcoming quite so _many_ of them into the city.

"We need somebody else," said Ronon suddenly. "We don't have Teyla anymore, and Weir is no good to us right now. We need somebody else. Somebody who can talk to the PerAn for us."

Sheppard nodded rapidly. "I'll go get Shil Yana!"

"Get Zelenka, too," Ronon advised. "The PerAn respect him for getting their kids out of the dart. And Weir listens to him."

Sheppard bounced on his holographic toes, hands on hips. "Yes! And McKay listens to him, too. Or at least, Radek browbeats him and makes him listen."

"Go on." Ronon grinned wickedly. "I'll make sure nobody steals McKay out of here."

Sheppard snorted. "I'm sure all of Atlantis will hear about it if somebody tries to take Rodney somewhere he doesn't want to go." With one last grin and nod towards Ronon, he allowed his hologram to fade out as he set about corralling both Zelenka and the head of the Yana clan.

~~~

Elizabeth Weir stared at her folded hands on the conference room table and frowned. "Forgive me, but I really don't know if I _want_ to be this _Tal_ person, Shil Yana. It sounds very much like a dictatorship. Those don't tend to work out very well, in my people's experience."

Shil Yana tilted her head thoughtfully. "I am afraid your wishes in the matter are irrelevant, Tal Weir. In retrospect, it is obvious. You _are_ the Lady of Atlantis. I am only surprised I did not realize from the very first. Forgive me. Perhaps it was your crisis, or the fact that you are not PerAn yourself."

"It took us time to recognize as well, Shil Yana," Pol Osri said in a conciliatory manner.

"And if I choose _not_ to be this _Tal_?" Weir asked carefully.

Osri shrugged, a pained look on his face. "Then you will be killed, and a new Tal will be chosen." All around the edges of the conference room, the PerAn enforcers straightened to attention apprehensively.

Sheppard couldn't help the rage that brought every light in the room to glaring brightness. Right this moment he was starting to be damned tired of Pol Osri and his high-handed ways, and his damned threats and manhandling of Sheppard's people. With difficulty, he dimmed the lights for the benefit of everyone shielding their eyes. He couldn't quite calm himself enough to bring the hologram's light levels within normal parameters, though, and he continued to glow more brightly than normal. "You’ve gotta know I’m not about to let that happen, Pol Osri. Your cousin should have told you by now. I won't permit my people to be harmed."

Osri bowed his head. "It was never my intention to offend you, Defender. The thought of harming Elizabeth Weir sickens me beyond the telling. But the people _need_ their Tal. They need someone to lead them."

"Our people will never accept one of your leaders," Lorne said forbiddingly, folding his arms against his chest.

"Are you kidding? Of _course_ we won't be following the orders of some barbarians who march in here and--OW!" McKay glared at Beckett with his remaining eye.

"And help save us all, Rodney," Beckett said pleasantly, nodding at Shil Yana. He steepled his hands and frowned. "But Rodney's right, you know. Our people will not follow _anyone_ who does away with Doctor Weir."

"If Doctor Weir is killed, my people will not permit you to take over the city of the Ancestors," Halling intoned implacably.

"I won't take orders from anyone else," Sheppard felt he had to emphasize. "And you'll find that the city itself will be damned difficult to control."

Osri, appearing increasingly distressed, looked over beseechingly at Shil Yana for help.

She spread her hands. "I agree, my Friends. We are all agreed. The PerAn wish no other leader. We _all_ want no other leader. Elizabeth Weir is the Lady of Atlantis, the Tal of _all_ our people." Shil gave a beseeching look of her own towards Weir. "If only she will accept the responsibility."

"If…if I accept this position…" Weir held up a hand to forestall any comments. "…I want to know all the duties and responsibilities it entails. And…and the pitfalls, Osri. I want to know what will happen to Doctor McKay and Major Lorne, Shil Yana, if it turns out I am this Tal after all."

Osri and Shil exchanged glances. "The Tal is a position of both secular and spiritual authority among the PerAn, Doctor Weir," Shil explained. "The Tal is the chosen leader of her, or his, people. In times of need, the Tal decides who eats and who goes hungry. In times of sickness, the Tal decides who gets medicine first. The Tal makes all the hard decisions, for the benefit of the people, and of necessity has the power to have those decisions enforced. The Tal's will is sacrosanct. To flaunt the will of the Tal is to betray the people. Punishment for that betrayal is harsh indeed."

"You said the Tal is important to the PerAn, Shil Yana, yes? What about your people?" Zelenka inquired.

Shil smiled at him. "Oh, long ago my people decided to follow the leadership of the PerAn and turn to the Tal as well, Doctor Zelenka. Else, our clansfolk could never agree on how best to work together, and would not tolerate one clan being elevated in power over another."

"You haven't answered my question!" Weir's voice was harsh, riveting the attention of everyone in the room. "What will happen to my people here if I become your Tal?" Her eyes shifted to McKay and Lorne. "I still have a serious discussion planned for you gentlemen, but I certainly don't want your death or imprisonment as a consequence of your recent activities."

Zelenka carefully covered Weir's hand on the conference room table with his own. "But your question has been answered, Elizabeth," he said earnestly. "The PerAn consider you their Tal. The Villana consider you their Tal as well. Those of us from Earth--the Tau'ri as we are sometimes called--and perhaps even our Athosian Friends, you are our leader also, no?"

He turned to look at Shil Yana and Pol Osri, glasses reflecting the light of Sheppard's hologram. "There must be times when the Tal's will is misinterpreted, maybe? What we call ‘an honest mistake’. Or sometimes maybe the Tal decides to overlook an error?"

Both Osri and Shil Yana suddenly relaxed, smiling. "Oh, yes." Pol Osri nodded vigorously. "At any time, the Tal may show Her Mercy. Anyone can beg her forgiveness and mercy, and it is often granted. Once Mercy is granted, the fault is forgiven, and can never be punished again."

At once, Major Lorne stood up and came to attention. "Permission to speak, Doctor Weir?"

Weir frowned. "Permission granted, of course, Major."

Lorne bowed, hand over his heart, as Sheppard knew Lorne had seen the PerAn do. "Tal Weir, I beg your Mercy and clemency for my recent actions. Please forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you! Don't be ridiculous, sit down!" Weir snorted. Sheppard grinned despite himself, as did many others in the room. Weir had sounded just like McKay in that moment. She huffed, causing Zelenka to cover his mouth in amusement. Nick Lorne sat down slowly, a glint in his eye.

McKay stood up and began to bow himself, hand over heart. "Elizabeth, may I--"

"Oh, please, Rodney, yes! Of course, you too." Weir sketched an invisible cross in the air in front of him. " _Te absolvo_. There! You're both forgiven. Go and sin no more!" She turned to Pol Osri and Shil Yana. "Have I been ‘sacrosanct’ enough? Is that good enough for you? Are they safe?"

Osri sat up, nodding slowly and looking bewildered by the nervous tittering of some of the Tau'ri. "Of course, Tal Weir, your Mercy is yours to give."

Weir's frown quelled everyone in the room. "I haven't decided if I'm going to go through with this yet. I'll want a thorough briefing from both of you, Shil Yana, Pol Osri, about what this entails. We'll want a city-wide announcement--and a notice to the Athosians of course, Halling. And then some kind of election or consensus of some kind, and…"

As Weir waded into the waters of procedure, Sheppard found he couldn't keep a relieved smile from adorning his hologram's face. An instinct made him focus on McKay, turn both sensors and hologram to catch the hint of an answering relieved smile that hitched up a corner of McKay's mouth. The first smile he'd seen on McKay's face since… Sheppard's mind slid away from that thought as he concentrated on returning McKay's smile. Both of them, in accord, for this briefest of moments. Maybe things weren't all that bad after all.

***

“Oh great, trees again,” McKay complained. “I’m so tired of all these planets that look like British Columbia.”

“I do not know this world, ‘British Columbia',” said Teyla. “But do you not prefer trees to desert worlds, or the world you and Colonel Sheppard named ‘Hoth’?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“But trees mean we have to park the Jumper by the gate,” Ronon said smugly. “And McKay hates to walk.”

“Just wait one minute! That is _completely_ unfair--”

“Focus on the positive, Rodney,” said Sheppard, maneuvering the Puddle Jumper to a sheltered position near the treeline. “Remember those energy readings the MALP picked up? The ones you were all excited about?”

“We need to investigate those energy readings right away, Colonel,” said McKay, gathering his gear eagerly. “It could be advanced technology, or possibly even a ZPM.”

“However, there is also a road leading from the Ancestors’ Ring, and it goes to a village only a short walk from here,” Teyla reminded them. “We should also investigate the trading opportunities of this world. Atlantis needs new food.”

Sheppard raised a hand to forestall McKay’s automatic protest. “Easy, there, guys. Maybe we can do both at the same time. After all, if there’s advanced technology, we'll need someone here’s permission to do anything with it.” He shut down the Jumper. “Okay, everybody out. I’m going to set the cloak, so remember where we parked.”

~~~

"Your weapons, please," the uniformed man demanded pleasantly. He wore a navy-colored uniform jacket with polished metal buttons that matched his pants, with an intricately pleated and immaculately pressed white shirt underneath, and brightly polished black boots. He was tall and craggy-faced, with closely clipped dark hair under his hat. Since a troop of the similarly-uniformed local constabulary had Sheppard's team surrounded--he'd heard the townspeople refer to them as 'enforcers'--with their large projectile weapons aimed steadily at the 'Lanteans, Sheppard didn't see the point in resisting.

The 'village' his team had walked into had turned out to be a moderate-sized town. The houses and businesses were mostly brick and stucco, the streets paved in cobblestones with gaslight lamps on the corners. The town looked clean and pleasantly prosperous, and the people appeared to be at a surprisingly industrialized level of development. Sheppard reflected ruefully that the Pegasus Galaxy had certainly increased his appreciation for indoor plumbing and electricity. Their group had easily been identified as strangers by the local populace--it seemed that walking around heavily armed wasn't a common occurrence here.

"We are peaceful traders," Teyla told the enforcer, giving up her P-90 at Sheppard's nod. Ronon reluctantly gave up his sword at Sheppard's firm look, and prepared to give up his blaster as well. Behind Ronon, Sheppard could see the storekeeper who had sent her assistant running for the enforcers when she saw his team. She folded her arms over her ample chest and continued to watch them suspiciously from the doorway of her bakery.

"Your weapons will be returned to you when you depart," the chief enforcer assured them. "If you wish to trade, we will take you to see the Calendor, Yom Digras. He arranges all trade with outsiders for Hamachtown."

The enforcers firmly but politely escorted the team to a large municipal-looking building, to await an audience with Calendor Yom Digras.

Time slowed to a crawl as they sat in the Calendor's office. Teyla and the officials engaged in interminable, earnest pleasantries, while the rest of the team tried not to fall asleep. Ronon sat up straight, looking alert and stoic, but Sheppard saw the telltale tapping of his fingertips against his leg, counting...something. Minutes? Music in his head? Sheppard had always wondered, never asked. Poor McKay was squirming. He’d probably _much_ rather be following up on his energy readings, which surprisingly hadn't originated from the town, as would have been more logical, but from the uninhabited woods that surrounded the town.

“Look, I agree that you and Teyla need to pursue the trade angle. I certainly want to keep eating. In the interests of efficiency, though, would you find out if Ronon and I can go take a little hike into the woods?” McKay whispered to Sheppard, in a manner he probably thought was discreet. “Ronon can protect me while I check out those readings, and we can probably wrap this all up and be home in time for dinner. What do you say?”

Sheppard didn't say anything, but gave McKay a single, sharp shake of his head. He made sure they shared eye contact, then deliberately looked over at Calendor Yom and raised his eyebrows. McKay followed his gaze, and gulped when he saw that the man--tall, muscular, and rather imposing--was glaring at them, blue eyes blazing beneath bushy eyebrows.

“I’m afraid we must forbid you entrance to the forest, honored guests,” he intoned, his fierce expression at odds with his words. “The forest is sacred, and for strangers to walk there would be most offensive to us.”

Sheppard saw McKay's lips move, forming 'But!' He gave a tiny shake of his head again, and McKay stopped before he actually voiced the word.

“We understand, Calendor Yom,” Sheppard told him gravely, after one more speaking glance at McKay. “We certainly don’t want to offend your people.”

Next to him, McKay sighed in distress, but wisely said nothing.

“Very well. Thank you for your understanding, Colonel Sheppard.” The Calendor turned to Teyla. “And we shall certainly consider your proposition for trade, Teyla Emmagan. However, at this time, the PerAn trade only with our Friends and other close allies. If you will leave us the information to contact you, we will certainly do so should this situation change.”

“But, honored Calendor…” began Teyla.

The Calendor stood, and the other officials in the room stood. Therefore, Sheppard’s team stood as well.

“Thank you, honored guests, for your visit. May the Ancestors grant you good fortune,” said Yom Digras, clearly dismissing them.

“Thank you for your time, Calendor,” said Teyla, with a regretful little incline of her head. “We certainly hope that you will reconsider your position. May we return again at some future time to petition for trade and an exchange of knowledge?”

“If you wish,” said Yom Digras. “Speak to my assistant to schedule a date for your next visit.” He was already turning to the paperwork on his desk.

What Sheppard was beginning to consider 'their' enforcers escorted the team out of the building and through the town. McKay scowled the whole time, but obeyed Sheppard’s 'save it for later' look and didn’t voice his complaints.

They were halfway down the road to the Stargate, still under an escort of enforcers, when two little children ran from the edge of the woods onto the road. “Papa, Papa!” called the taller one, fair-haired and perhaps six years old. A dark-haired smaller child toddled in the first child’s wake.

The enforcers at once transformed from a faceless, disciplined force into individuals. One of the men knelt down and opened his arms for the children who were obviously his. The troop’s commander scowled forbiddingly and approached his man. “Cal Pinurst, you know this is _not_ permitted!”

“I knew there was something strange,” muttered Ronon.

“What do you mean?” asked Sheppard.

McKay snapped his fingers and pointed at the children. “You’re right, Ronon! I didn’t see _one_ little brat in the whole town.”

“They are correct, Colonel,” Teyla said wonderingly. “There were no children to be seen at all. I did not think they feared strangers that much…”

The rest of the troop guarded Sheppard’s team, and tried to avert their eyes from their commander chewing out his soldier, who sheltered his children in his arms and stuttered apologies.

Teyla went still. "I sense Wraith," she said.

In the distance, the Stargate activated, and suddenly darts screamed overhead.

***

"Doctor Zelenka," Sheppard said quietly. "Do you have a minute?"

He'd kept his voice quiet on purpose, because of the late hour and the fact that Zelenka was alone in the lab, but the scientist startled anyway, nearly falling off his stool. One flailing arm struck the empty mug near his elbow, and it skittered off the table. Sheppard automatically reached to grab it and the mug fell through his hand. It was one of the metal ones, though, so it just clinked and bounced along the floor.

Zelenka swore sharply in Czech, then turned to face Sheppard with one hand over his heart. "My apologies, Defender," he said, sounding a little breathless. "I did not know you were there."

"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing," Sheppard said. He grinned, trying to put Zelenka at ease. "I keep forgetting how easy it is to sneak up on people like this." He didn't have footsteps anymore. Only his voice made any kind of sound, and even that didn't actually come from his hologram, but from the nearest communications device to his position. No wonder Zelenka had been frightened--it must have sounded like Sheppard had crept up behind him and spoken right in his ear.

Zelenka just waved a hand dismissively. "Not your fault." He stood and pushed his laptop to the side, a gesture that Sheppard appreciated. McKay would never have done that, even when he had wanted Sheppard around him. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said. He resisted the urge to cross the arms of his hologram protectively, forced himself to keep his gaze steady on Zelenka's kind face. "McKay doesn't think I'm real," he said.

Admitting it out loud felt almost petty. Playground stuff-- _Rodney doesn't like me anymore_ \--but that didn't stop the surge of fear he felt at just saying the words, at the silence that seemed to stretch out forever while Zelenka looked at him and didn't speak, like he was trying to find the gentlest way of saying that yes, McKay was right.

It occurred to Sheppard, stupidly, belatedly, that he had no idea what he would do if that happened.

"You mean," Zelenka said, just before Sheppard was going to tell him to forget it, it didn't matter, "you are asking if he is correct, no? If you are actual Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, or just…reproduction of him?"

"Yes," Sheppard said. His voice sounded small and weak to him, even diminished as it was by the comm in Zelenka's ear. Sheppard realized he had formed his hands into tight fists, though of course he couldn't feel them.

"Right. Yes," Zelenka said, nodding. He gave Sheppard a small smile. "I would ask you to take a seat, but that would be pointless." Sheppard smiled back, feeling self-conscious, but it _was_ pointless. Climbing onto one of the lab stools in holographic form was just ridiculous--Zelenka didn't care if he did or not, and it wasn't like Sheppard could ever be tired.

Zelenka took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose with the ball of his thumb and then put them back on. "So," he said on a breath. "I think you are one of three things.

"One is simple computer program--billions of lines of code, perhaps. Probably billions. But built just to mimic life, mimic John Sheppard, based on what Atlantis uploaded from him. We say something, and the program reacts as Sheppard would, learning as it goes, adapting to our expectations. Very perceptive, very advanced AI, but there is no…" He broke off, making a face, an abortive gesture. "No _soul_. All mask." He waved a hand in front of his face. "Just surface, empty reactions." He smiled again, a sad smile this time, and gave a little shrug. "No real Defender, no Colonel Sheppard. Just, hologram that looks and sounds like him. No person underneath."

"I'm here. I'm inside, here," Sheppard said. He couldn't make himself ask if that was what Zelenka believed, that all he was consisted of words and contoured photons and mechanical lies. He couldn't bear the idea that McKay believed it. That would be worse than being dead. "This is me."

"Of course," Zelenka said, and his quick, casually dismissive nod was one of the sweetest things Sheppard had seen in his entire life. "It makes only sense. The Ancients would not have gone to such trouble to create something like that. It is a waste of effort. If they only needed a sophisticated AI to run the city properly, there would have been one when we arrived, no reason to make one now and pretend it is a real person. So," he continued, tapping two fingers on the tabletop. "Second possibility. That you are not program _based_ on Sheppard, but a _copy_ of Sheppard. Perhaps this is also program, but if so, then the billions of lines of code do not mimic you, but recreate you." He made a circle with one hand next to his eye. "Distinct algorithms replacing neurons, chemical interactions, so on. But," he said, as Sheppard was beginning to smile again, "We have problem." The fingers of his other hand were still on the table, and now he looked at them, obviously considering. They traced a random pattern--well, maybe not a random one, but something Sheppard didn't recognize. "You are familiar with the Fax machines that all offices used to have, yes? The best way to send documents before the internet became popular?"

"Sure," Sheppard said, making his hologram nod. He added the next sentence before Zelenka could, because he knew exactly what Zelenka was going to say. He just didn't want to think what it meant. "They didn't work very well."

"The first ones, not, yes," Zelenka said. "The later ones, they did." He was nodding again, agreeing with himself. "Excellent copies, impossible to tell from the original. _But_ ," he said, and when he looked up at Sheppard his expression was apologetic, like he knew Sheppard had anticipated what he would say. "But the copies are not the original. Just as good, maybe in some ways better, even. But not original. Not exactly the same."

Sheppard kept nodding, slow and measured and with dawning horror. "That--that's what Rodney thinks, isn't it? That…I'm not the same anymore. I'm not really John Sheppard."

"Yes," Zelenka said gently, kindly. "I am sure that is what he thinks."

He'd _known_ it, of course. Of course he had. McKay had made it more than obvious what he thought of Sheppard, what he thought Sheppard was. But to know that there was a reason behind it, something--God, something _plausible…_

"Is it true?" Sheppard asked, and his artificially-created voice sounded mechanical and thin and strange. "Is that it? Is that what I am now?"

A facsimile. Not real.

"That leads us to third option," Zelenka said briskly, as if he wanted to ignore what he'd just said as quickly as possible, as if that could somehow take away the chance it might be true. "That you are still original John Sheppard--that your mind has been uploaded into Atlantis whole, complete. That you are still _you_ , the same, merely in another form." His smile reappeared, widened. "I have imagined this, sometimes." His hands spread out, striking out metaphorical distance in the air. "Kilometers, _acres_ of crystals. Each one holding millions of bites of information, each one making up a tiny piece of a man." He shook his head in what looked like almost grudging wonder. "Such technology. It is as a miracle."

"The Asgard could do that," Sheppard said.

"Yes," Zelenka agreed, but his smile spread into a grin. "But they are aliens. The Ancients became _us_. That counts for more, I think."

Sheppard couldn't help smiling back. _Acres of crystals_ , each one making him _him_. The same. Real.

"Is that what you think I am?" It was still terrible to make himself ask.

Zelenka's grin faded, and Sheppard felt something close to terror, but Zelenka only looked thoughtful. Not apologetic again, not sad. "I think," he said, "that what you are asking is the wrong question."

Sheppard waited.

"Tell me," Zelenka said. "You are talking to me now--how do you know I am not a computer program myself?" He tapped his forehead with his first finger. "How do you know I have a mind in here, that there is a person responding to you? Not just, robot, perhaps. Or," he smiled. "Or hologram."

Sheppard smirked back obligingly, though he didn't feel like it. "It's because…" he trailed off, considering it. His hologram blinked, because Sheppard would have. "I _don't_ know," he said. "I guess…I guess I just assume it."

"Of course," Zelenka said knowingly, as if that was only the answer he'd expected. "You do not know. You _can not_ know. Maybe the Villana telepaths can, but even then, it could be a trick--the robot could be designed to pretend to have thoughts, yes? Why not?--But you assume. That is what we all do, that is only thing we can do."

"You're saying…” Sheppard tried. “I'm real because, you _believe_ I am?"

Zelenka nodded, pleased. "Yes. Just as I am real because you believe I am so. That is how it works." He shrugged. "You talk and move like John Sheppard, why should I think you are not?"

"What if you're wrong?" Sheppard asked. He didn't even want to think about it, but he couldn't not. It was in every one of McKay’s narrowed glares, every cutting word, every time McKay avoided him, refused to even acknowledge his presence. It had been going on for weeks. "What if I'm really not…Sheppard?"

"Then you are closest thing we have to him," Zelenka said quickly, easily. "More important, you are closest thing _you_ have to him. You believe you are real, yes?"

“Yes,” Sheppard said. No matter what McKay did, or said, or didn't, Sheppard believed it. He had to.

"Then there is nothing to worry about," Zelenka said crisply. "You think you are Colonel Sheppard, and I think you are Colonel Sheppard--there is no problem with this. And if you are not actually Sheppard, I have no way to know it. So it is moot."

"Thank you," Sheppard said. He wished he could sound more enthusiastic, but it wasn't enough, wasn't definite. "You could find out, though, for certain, couldn't you?" He asked. "I mean, if I'm crystals--"

"They would have to be somewhere, physically. Yes," Zelenka said. He raised his eyebrows. "In a city the size of Manhattan. You would have much better luck to find it than me."

"You could find the computer program."

Zelenka titled his head slightly. "Possibly, yes. But it would probably take the rest of my life, to find one program in millions." He smiled. "Ancients were not big on useful search engines."

Sheppard returned his smile, not sure if he was more disappointed than relieved. He wondered if Zelenka was exaggerating the difficulty of finding him, even in a computer the size of Atlantis'. Maybe Zelenka didn't want to force Sheppard to confront the certainty of what he was. Maybe he thought he was being kind.

"Right," Sheppard said. He spread his smile a little wider, gesturing at Zelenka's laptop with a flick of his chin. "I should let you get back to that. You've wasted enough time talking to a hologram."

"Wait," Zelenka said, before Sheppard could fade. "You did not ask me last question."

Sheppard looked at Zelenka curiously. He'd asked him everything he'd gone there to ask. "What?"

"The last question," Zelenka said, and his voice had become gentle again. "Why Rodney does not think you are real, if I do, if everyone else in Atlantis does."

Sheppard was privately uncertain whether everyone else in Atlantis accepted him as the same man who had gone into the chair room, but McKay was the only one who had ever said he didn't to Sheppard's face. "I thought I had."

"No." Zelenka shook his head. "You asked if you were real. You did not ask why he thinks you are not."

"Okay," Sheppard said. He didn't ask why Zelenka thought he would know. In some ways Zelenka knew McKay better than Sheppard ever had. "Why doesn't he think I'm real, then, since you do?"

"He is not willing to believe it," Zelenka said, as if that was somehow a revelation.

"I know," Sheppard said. That was why he had come here tonight, after all, tried to convince himself that knowing one way or the other would be for the best, even if it meant he wasn't actually anyone. "So, why?"

Now Zelenka's smile was rueful. "Tell me, Defender," he said. "What is better--to believe in something and be told you are wrong, or to not believe in something, and be told you are right?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said.

"Rodney does," said Zelenka.

***

“Oh, my!” Weir exclaimed as their group entered the Citadel of the Ancestors, as the Villana called it. “It looks just like--”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Sheppard nodded knowingly, having seen it all before on the Renfest planet, as he and McKay privately called it. The central tower they entered looked just like the control tower in Atlantis, down to the stained-glass windows the Ancients were so fond of. It lacked only the Stargate, which was located just down the road from this Ancient citadel.

Sheppard looked around him. This citadel was not decorated in the pseudo-medieval frippery of the Renfest planet’s tower, and it didn’t have the Tau’ri trappings that Sheppard was suddenly aware had crept into the command tower of Atlantis. Instead, it was pure Ancient, in a way that was both hauntingly familiar and utterly alien. Damn, they even had living versions of the stupid dead potted plants Atlantis had been littered with when the Expedition’s first wave had discovered the city at the bottom of the ocean. The botanists that Lorne’s team escorted through the Gate on occasion would go bug-wild here, seeing as they had lovingly collected every scrap of dead Ancient-potted-plant they could find and had glowered at the cavalier treatment of them.

Among the gleaming Ancient wonders, the Villana seemed drab and dull, sparrows in quarters designed for peacocks. It wasn’t just the floppy, sexless and muted clothing they all wore, or how they all seemed to strive for resolute androgyny. It was in the way they glided around, quiet and subdued, and the way they all spoke softly and moderately, like they had all gone to a super strict school for librarians. In contrast, the PerAn who had entered the citadel with the Atlantis delegation moved and spoke like a group of schoolchildren at a museum: loud and boisterous, and then suddenly hushing, as if remembering where they were. You could tell the groups apart at a glance, too. The PerAn dressed simply, but not drably. They seemed to prefer brighter colors, too--although you needed to count black and white as colors--but at least they were bright whites, and deep blacks, and enlivened with the occasional touches of bottle green or blood red. And, best of all in Sheppard’s opinion, many of their clothes were at least fitted, if not terribly differentiated according to gender, so that at least most of the time you could tell if someone was male or female by just looking at them.

A noticeably female PerAn came up to them, her dark green vest and the white shirt under it not hiding the generous curves of her breasts. She bowed her head. “Welcome to the Citadel of the Ancestors, Doctor Weir, Colonel Sheppard. I am Kel Mara. I greet you in the name of Yom Digras, the Calendor of Hamachtown, and of the Speaker of the Citadel, Danl Talene of the Talene clan.”

Danl was a Villana, then--Sheppard had already learned that the Villana were really big on clan names. Sheppard sighed inwardly, wondering if there was any hope in guessing if Danl would be a guy or a woman.

Weir nodded in return. “Hello, Kel Mara. It’s nice to meet you. I assume you’re here to take us to the meeting?”

“I am. Most of your people and ours are already assembled, Doctor Weir.” Kel Mara smiled and gestured. “Up the stairs, please. I am instructed to inform you that one of the advisors in attendance will be a Villana Truthteller.”

“A Truthteller?” asked Weir, as they followed Kel up the stairs.

“Some of the Villana are telepaths, Elizabeth,” Sheppard warned her.

“Yes,” Kel agreed pleasantly. “We are honored to employ Aren Lev Nent for this task. Aren is one of the more powerful telepaths of the talented Lev clan.”

“Isn’t that a bit…” Weir appeared to be looking for a diplomatic way to phrase her objection. “Intrusive?”

“Oh!” Kel appeared startled. “Oh, no. Lev Nent would not enter your mind without your permission. Of course not. The Truthteller is only present to sense falsehood and secrets, and to point out when either party is dissembling, or hiding something.”

Weir stopped at the landing, thinking. “Thank you for your warning, Kel Mara. You must understand that we are unused to telepaths, and they unnerve us somewhat.” She turned to Sheppard. “John, I think I’d like you and Rodney to sit this meeting out. I can get along with Major Lorne, Doctor Zelenka, and Teyla to advise me.” She raised a hand when Sheppard opened his mouth to object. “I’d rather not have the entire command staff in the room with a telepath.” Weir turned to Kel. “It’s not that we don’t trust your people, Kel Mara, or that we intend to deceive you in any way. But my staff carry a variety of secrets in their minds that I’m not comfortable sharing until we know your people much better.”

Kel Mara made a conciliatory gesture. “As you wish, Doctor Weir. It is the objective of this meeting for our people to arrange to be Friends. When we are Friends, all will be well. This way.”

They left Sheppard standing on the landing as they made their way to the large conference room, which was already filling with people. Moments after they entered, a rather disgruntled McKay emerged. He glanced over his shoulder at the room as he left it, frowning.

Sheppard joined him. “Kicked you out, huh?”

“Yes,” McKay said sourly. “And Zelenka gets to stay and play ‘scientific advisor’ to Elizabeth. His ego is soaring higher than a kite after yesterday and last night already. He’s going to be insufferable.”

Sheppard clapped him companionably on the shoulder, taking a moment to squeeze the back of McKay’s neck as well.

"Elizabeth doesn't want the whole command staff in there with a telepath." He consoled McKay. "She's afraid that the ‘Truthteller’ will lift all our security information from our minds."

McKay raised a startled eyebrow. "But doesn't she know they don’t do that?"

Sheppard shook his head, looking down the stairs to the little groups of Villana clustered around, chatting quietly among themselves. "One of the PerAn told her the Truthtellers don’t do that, but Elizabeth was uncomfortable anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s not like she had a chance to meet them, the way we did."

“That’s true,” McKay said. “Not, ah, that meeting one made me feel _hugely_ more comfortable around them, though…”

“All the better that we’re not with the others, then,” Sheppard said. He ignored McKay’s groused reply and looped an arm over his shoulders, feeling the happiest he remembered being since the gate to Earth hadn't formed its expected wormhole.

"Come on, Rodney,” he said. “Let's go find Ronon and see what trouble we can get into."

"He's probably with Pol Osri." McKay was still grumbling, but he allowed himself to be tugged along. "I think they’re discussing that poetry they both like. What were the odds? Conan liking _poetry_ of all things…"

~~~

"They say that we're Friends now, and want to move to Atlantis and live with us." Weir sounded dazed. She and the others had finally stumbled out of the conference room, many hours later.

All the Atlantis contingent looked pleased, if somewhat shell-shocked.

"What? All of them?" McKay's eyebrows climbed his forehead.

Weir shook her head bemusedly. "Um, no, Rodney. But, quite a few of them, anyway. Several Clans of Villana and a great many Households of PerAn."

"The Villana have dwelled in this citadel for many thousands of years, Rodney," said Teyla, head tilted to the side. "It seems that _all_ the Villana--and many of the PerAn--possess the gene of the Ancestors, as Colonel Sheppard does, and they all have the ability to manipulate the technology of the Ancestors."

"They can all read Ancient, Rodney!" Zelenka tugged on McKay's arm excitedly. "And they actually understand much of the technology. How often have we come across this in Pegasus?"

"Huh." McKay's forehead furrowed before his eyes lit with speculation. "I wonder if they know the location of any ZPMs? Did you ask if--"

…And he was lost in an excited discussion and speculation with his fellow scientist. Sheppard shook his head.

"So, we're getting new neighbors, huh?" he asked, turning to Lorne.

"Yes, Sir." Lorne looked uncomfortable, scratching the back of his head and shifting slightly on his feet. "I'm sorry we didn't consult you, Sir. Doctor Weir seemed to feel it was okay, and you--"

"I wasn't there, Major. You were. I trust your assessment of the situation," Sheppard said. Lorne nodded and appeared to relax.

"So…how many of them are we talking about?" Sheppard strove to sound casual about it.

Lorne looked nervous again. "Uh, Sir. Quite a few. They may even outnumber us. They wanted to help 'fortify the city of the Ancestors’, they said. I think most of the Villana who are coming are scientists, and most of the PerAn who are coming are soldiers. They agreed to serve under your command, Sir."

"Oh. Well, _that's_ good, at least. So glad I haven't been replaced yet." Sheppard couldn't quite keep the snap out of his voice.

“Their citadel is crumbling, John,” Weir said, probably sensing that Sheppard wasn’t as far onboard with this as she, Lorne and Zelenka appeared to be. “They’ve been able to keep their losses to the Wraith at a minimum by hiding most of the population in the citadel during attacks, but unlike the other planet we discovered with an Atlantis-like city, the Villana and PerAn are fully aware that their ZPM is almost depleted, and they’re down to a handful of drones.” She looked Sheppard in the eye. “Shil Yana told me that they won’t survive another culling.”

 _We can’t abandon them_. Weir didn’t have to say it.

“They’re experts on defensive technology, sir,” Lorne put in quickly. “And they want to bring everything they’ve discovered with them to Atlantis. They’re developing this shield that will leach away the kinetic energy of projectile weapons--"

"Elizabeth,” Sheppard said, cutting Lorne off. “Have you thought of how we're going to _feed_ these many people?" He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing now he’d been in the meeting. What Weir and Lorne were telling him sounded like it could be really, really good--but the strain on their already-dwindling resources could be disastrous. He just hoped Weir hadn’t lost sight of that, caught up as she obviously was in the heady possibility of having a city full of technologically-advanced allies who could use Ancient technology and were willing to do so on their behalf.

"Don't worry, John,” Weir said easily, like this had already been completely dealt with. And really, it probably had. “They're going to send along provisions as well. The PerAn are excellent farmers and herders, as well as soldiers. It won’t solve our problems, but it will certainly help." Weir patted his arm absently as she looked into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. "Excuse me, please, gentlemen." She quickly descended. Sheppard saw her begin a conversation with Shil Yana. McKay and Zelenka were off to the side, engaged in a hand-waving discussion with several Villana he didn't recognize.

Next to him, Lorne stood at parade rest, silent and unhappy-looking. Sheppard had just told him he trusted his judgment. He couldn't take that back almost instantaneously, wary though he still felt about all of this.

Maybe it was just too new, too sudden. Sheppard had to admit he had never been one to take easily to change. His uncertainty about abandoning the life he’d known at McMurdo--no matter how bleak--had come close to costing him Atlantis, and McKay. He’d tried to be more accepting of the myriad of daily uncertainties his life had thrown at him since then, but as much as he led from the front, he’d never been one to leap into the unknown with open arms. And inviting some hundreds of near-strangers into the most important city in the galaxy was pretty damn unknown, no matter how genuinely good the Villana and PerAn appeared to be.

Sheppard straightened, made himself smile and nod at Lorne, who smiled back gratefully. Sheppard trusted Weir, and Lorne, and Zelenka, and if they were all enthusiastic about this, he could probably afford to be, too. It was just another change, that was all. And one for the better. He could get used to it.

On his other side, Teyla raised a thoughtful eyebrow. Sheppard sighed. He could just see a discussion about another attempt to integrate some Athosians into the Atlantean populace looming on the horizon.

And oh, look, there came Ronon, bounding up the stairs, with his new best poetry discussion-friend, Pol Osri, at his side.

"Sheppard!" Ronon greeted him, grinning fiercely. "Osri says he's moving with his family to Atlantis!"

Sheppard suppressed another sigh and smiled his best smile at his new neighbor.

***

"Will I _like_ school, Papa?" Johnny's feet lightly kicked his father's kidneys and his fingers played with the collar of McKay's jacket as they strode down the hallway. Well, McKay strode. Johnny McKay rode in the jostling, but secure confines of the kiddypack on McKay's back. Johnny apparently was enjoying the opportunities to play with his father's clothes, his hair, and whatever tools his little fingers could reach.

And his little fingers could reach a surprising number of things while McKay carried him around. That too-close scare in the lab yesterday had apparently been the last straw that broke Cara's back. She and McKay had had the 'talk' McKay had, until now, successfully been putting off for weeks. It had resulted in Johnny's first day of school today, at the tender age of 40 months.

McKay put on an extra burst of speed to reach the transporter a kindly soul was holding for him. He remembered when he'd never had to wait for any of the transporters, since they'd never been busy. He remembered when he had known, at least by sight, each and every individual in Atlantis.

"Thanks," he muttered to the woman, PerAn by the looks of her, nodding gratefully. She smiled shyly at him and pressed the destination code nearest the south pier.

"Of course you'll like school, Kiddo," McKay assured his son, as he stabbed at his destination on the transporter pad. The woman gathered her packages and exited the transporter, to be replaced by a tall, gawky, young Athosian man.

"Good morning, Doctor McKay. Good morning, young McKay. Blessings of the Ancestors upon you." The young man nodded at them.

McKay blinked. What was his name? What?

"Good morning, Wallen," Johnny responded politely, as his mother had taught him.

McKay gratefully followed his child's lead. "Blessings of the Ancestors to you. As well. Ah, Wallen," he said awkwardly.

A moment later, they reached their stop and exited, McKay sending a jerky little wave Wallen's way as he moved rapidly down the corridor, out of sight.

"Where do I know him from?" McKay muttered to himself.

"Wallen cuts hair, Papa," Johnny reminded him. "Remember when he cut my hair? I didn't cry because I'm a big boy now and big boys don't cry if it doesn't hurt. And cutting hair doesn't hurt, because it's just follicles and they don't have nerves to hurt with. And _why_ will I like school, Papa?"

"Because you'll have something called a 'teacher’, whose job it will be to answer all those questions you ask. All. Day. Long." They had finally reached the door to the suite designated as classrooms for the nursery school. McKay pressed the signals on the pad that would announce their presence.

Shahyaan Tia nan Dex answered the door, her face breaking into a sunny smile as soon as she saw McKay. "Doctor Rodney! Welcome. Who have you brought us today?" Ronon's wife was a tiny woman with huge, liquid brown eyes and a warmth that melted even McKay's habitual prickliness.

He bent to kiss her cheek, smiling proudly at her. Cara had spoken to her last night, so Shahyaan knew they were coming, and her prattle was just that. Normally McKay had no patience for this kind of chitchat, but Shahyaan had always been able to charm him. "My brilliant son, Shah'. Cara convinced me that he needs to join the school and not just hang around with either of us all day. And he's just convinced me that he needs a teacher."

Johnny waved at her, suddenly silent and shy.

"My day is bright then, a McKay in my school at last." Shahyaan grinned and guided McKay to a couch where he could sit and divest himself of the kiddypack, and Johnny.

"Greetings, Johnny Yana McKay! Welcome to the Peter Grodin nursery school. We have friends for you to meet, and games to play, and many things to learn." Shahyaan smiled gently at Johnny, who still clung to his father, thumb in his mouth. "And whenever you wish, we can call your mother or father to come play with you for a little while, or even to take you home if you need it."

The thumb popped out of Johnny's mouth. "Mama says when a Yana enters school, he works hard to learn all he can, so that he honors his clan and his House and his family. Mama says this is my job now, like she and Papa have their jobs, and I am not to interrupt them for trivial matters." The thumb went firmly back in his mouth.

Shahyaan and McKay exchanged frowns. "Hey, Kiddo," McKay tugged on his son's arm until the thumb came out of his mouth again. He put an arm around Johnny's back to hold him close, holding that damp little fist in his other hand. "You just remember, Johnny, that a _McKay_ is never afraid to call for help or for backup if he needs it. Your Mama's right that you can't call us away for every little thing, but if you need me, I'll come. I promise. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Johnny whispered.

McKay rocked his son a little. "Come on Kiddo, you're not usually such a shy guy. You know your Aunt Shah', Uncle Ronon's wife, remember? Remember their little girl, Leda? You played with her last month."

Johnny perked up. "Is Leda here, Auntie Shah'?"

Shahyaan smiled at him. "Oh, yes, the Wild One is here. And your Uncle Nick's son, Will, also. He has been asking when his friend Johnny will come to play with him."

"Will is here too?" Johnny wriggled out of McKay's hold and off the couch, poised to run to wherever needed running to. "And will you be my teacher, Auntie Shah'?"

"I must run the school, little one. But your teacher is my cousin, Isilla Tia, and you will like her very much. Come see your friends." Shahyaan stood and took Johnny's hand, walking him towards his classroom. Johnny glanced back at his father.

McKay waved goodbye to his son. "Have fun, Johnny! I'll come get you tonight. Be good for your teacher."

"Bye, Papa!"

Over Johnny's head, McKay met Shahyaan's significant glance and stayed put on the couch, waiting while she took his son to his new classroom. He absently ran the fingers of one hand back and forth over his thumb, shifting in his seat, poking through the bag of Johnny's things he'd brought along, to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

He remembered the first time he'd met Shahyaan, along with the little group of Satedan refugees that Ronon had discovered on a routine technology-and-allies mission. She had been filthy and disheveled and worn with grief and hardship, but standing next to Ronon, looking up at him, her face had glowed with a tangle of warmth and humor and joy and love. Ronon--he had practically been levitating off the ground, so great was his joy and excitement and overwhelming anxiety.

 _"McKay," he'd begged, his eyes huge and desperate. "Please. Please help me convince Tal Weir to let me take my people home to Atlantis._ My people _, McKay!" He'd turned and looked at Shahyaan, his whole self yearning. McKay had felt a pang. He remembered that emotion._

_"You and her, um, you knew her before?" McKay had asked._

_"We were to be married, before… Before," Ronon had said gruffly._

_McKay had touched his forearm, gently. "I'll help you. And, hey, the hologram will go to bat for you, too, you know."_

_"Sheppard," Ronon had frowned, not willing to back down, even then._

_"The Defender, yeah." McKay had glanced over at Shahyaan._

_Ronon had glanced over with him, and his whole face had softened. "Thanks, McKay."_

Shahyaan approached now, without Johnny, but with someone vaguely familiar-looking scuttling along behind her. McKay stood up abruptly.

"Doctor Rodney, I am so sorry to appear to exchange your child for this person." Shahyaan waved at the woman behind her. "But we have tolerated her in our household long enough. It is your turn."

Shahyaan shook her head. "I do not agree with this punishment the Villana have decreed. Sora's servitude has done nothing to assuage Ronon for the loss of his friend, Teyla. Instead of allowing the grief to fade naturally, her presence has made it fresh and new each day. It was better when she was serving the Athosians to pay for the loss of their leader. At least they got some useful work out of her. With us, it is all Ronon can do to refrain from striking her every time he sees her." Shahyaan's usual warmth had frozen to cold disdain as she glanced at the miserable slave, who was hunched over, rough, chapped hands clasped together, staring at the ground.

McKay scowled and tried hard to tamp down the rage in his own heart. It was the fault of this piece of human filth before him that Teyla was dead, it was her fault so many of his friends and colleagues were dead, it was her fault his eye was gone, and it was her fault Sheppard was dead as well.

He hated the thought of having this creature in his household as a servant. It wasn't as if she was actually consciously atoning. The punishment _meant nothing_ to her, because her memory had been wiped. She was innocent of her past crimes and motivations, knowing only her penance and servitude, in this odd, wretched punishment of the Villana.

Sora cringed even as she knelt and bowed to the ground before him, rattling off a formula she'd obviously used before. "Master. I regret my transgressions, which have led to your loss. I humbly request the opportunity to allow me to make up for my sins in your service."

McKay supposed that at least the sight of her trailing along behind him would serve as a deterrent to anyone contemplating that serious a crime. He sighed.

"Stand up," he told Sora. "If you have a bag, get it. When we leave here, follow behind me and keep up. Don't speak to me unless it's necessary. I'll bring you to my wife, and she can tell you what your duties are. I want to see and hear you as little as possible. Is that understood?" He waited for her nod. The bruise on her jaw from someone's fist told him why Shahyaan was getting rid of her.

"Here are Johnny's things," he told Shahyaan in a different tone. "I've scheduled a light day today, so if he needs me to come reassure him, just call me, okay, Shah'?"

Shahyaan's customary smile had returned. "He will be _fine_ , Doctor Rodney! But, I promise to call you if you are needed. I will see you tonight."

McKay smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "Tonight, then. Let me know how he does."

He turned to walk out of the door. "Let's go," he said abruptly to the air over his shoulder, and he was followed by a scurrying Sora as he left the school.

***

“Hey, Rodney,” Sheppard said softly.

McKay made a noise somewhere between sleep and waking, and then automatically turned his head to the left, looking for the voice.

“John?” he asked. His voice was groggy and thick, and Sheppard wondered if McKay even knew where he was--he never used Sheppard’s first name in public. “John? Where are you?” There was a second where Sheppard knew McKay was realizing he couldn’t see, and he could tell when McKay started to panic by the way his hands fumbled towards his bandaged eyes.

“Don’t!” Sheppard said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm, to not add to McKay’s rising fear. “Don’t touch it,” he added, though McKay’s hands had already stopped, the fingers trembling as they traced the edges of the gauze. “You need it,” Sheppard said. “For your eyes. It’s just a bandage--you’re not blind, Rodney.”

He didn’t want to be the one to tell McKay that he only had one eye.

“Thank God,” McKay breathed. “Thank God, thank God…” He let his hands slip to his chest. His head turned to the left again--he seemed unaware that Sheppard was speaking to him through an ear comm. Beckett had thoughtfully put one over McKay’s ear on Sheppard’s behalf. “Are you okay?” McKay asked. “Did we win?”

The hologram smiled without any conscious thought on Sheppard’s part. “Yeah, we won.”

Sheppard could practically hear McKay’s anxiety melt as he breathed. “It worked,” he said, sounding amazed. “I can’t believe we did it. It--"

McKay stopped mid-sentence, going completely still, and Sheppard watched the memory flooding back, in every tensing line of McKay’s body.

“Rodney--" he began.

“John!” McKay’s heart rate was rocketing. Sheppard could hear it through Atlantis’ sensors, like a galloping horse as it sped up. “John, where are you? What happened? Are you all right?--You can’t be all right! You were _screaming…_!”

“I’m here, I’m here, it’s okay, Rodney!” Sheppard’s hologram was standing right at the edge of McKay’s bed. He didn’t remember moving that close. “I’m okay!” he said. “Atlantis… helped me.”

“Where are you?” Sheppard wasn’t sure that McKay had even heard him. McKay’s was groping in the air, reaching for him, his arms shuddering with the effort. His head was turning almost wildly back and forth, as if he could see Sheppard if he just tried hard enough. “John!”

“I’m right here!” Sheppard said again. And he automatically reached for McKay’s hands, to give McKay an anchor, so he could let McKay know that he was with him, that he was all right.

They went right through, like sunlight through glass.

 _Oh_ , Sheppard thought, stunned, looking at his hands, _Oh_.

No, not his hands. The hologram’s hands. He didn’t have hands anymore. Didn’t have--

Didn’t have a _body…_

The sudden surge of panic that flared through him was like the white-hot heart of a star. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t let himself think about it: what had happened to him, what Atlantis had done. He had been in agony and useless and dying and then suddenly he wasn’t any of those things, and everyone had been treating him as if he was some kind of _hero_ , going on about his incredible sacrifice, and he hadn’t let himself think about what it meant. But he didn’t have a _body_ anymore, and he couldn’t touch McKay, couldn’t touch _anything_ , and he was just a mind, just a mind in a _spaceship_ \--

He felt the blast of the power spike ripping through Atlantis’ safeguards just before the lamps in the ceiling of the infirmary exploded, one after another in bursts of color and light. Sheppard heard McKay’s startled gasp at the noise, then tried to shield him with the holographic body, but the shards fell through like rain. McKay cried out in pain and fear as the pieces left cuts and small burns as they skittered over him.

McKay began calling for help. He tried to pull himself upright, but he was still weak, disoriented, and kept slipping back. His hands scrabbled and slid against the bed sheets, leaving small trails of blood where they had accidentally clutched at lamp fragments.

“I’m sorry!” Sheppard said, stricken, but he couldn’t stop what was happening; he didn’t know how. A nearby ECG monitor shorted out spectacularly, sparks shooting like fireworks before it went dead. Luckily it wasn’t near anyone. The Ancient version of an MRI machine started up ponderously, the large scanner sliding over nothing with a sound like whining.

Beckett came running in, going right to McKay. His staff were trying to shield the other patients, or unplug equipment before it was destroyed. “What the hell’s going on? Is this another attack?” he asked Sheppard, but turned his attention to McKay before Sheppard could reply. “It’s all right, you’re all right, Rodney,” he said, with astonishing, gentle calm. “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” He helped McKay sit up, detaching his IV line with quick efficiency, then pulled McKay’s arm over his shoulders to help him stand.

“Carson!” McKay was fighting him, still turning his head as if he could see, or maybe he was just following each new noise as something else was overloaded and destroyed. “I--I heard John, but I can’t find him! Where is he? I remember, we were in the chair room, and--"

Beckett’s laptop exploded, scattering metal and plastic around his office like grenade fragments.

“Bloody hell!” Beckett whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, clutching McKay to keep him from falling when he startled violently at the noise. Beckett turned back to Sheppard. “Can’t you stop it?”

“I don’t know how!” Sheppard said. “I’m sorry!”

Beckett blinked, then his eyes went wide with comprehension.

“ _You’re_ doing this?” Beckett didn’t wait for an answer. “For God’s sake, John, get a hold of yourself! Stop this, now!”

“I _can’t_!” Another piece of equipment popped like a firecracker, as if in counterpoint to Sheppard’s words.

“John? John, are you there?” McKay was talking to the air, looking unearthly with his eyes eclipsed by white, frighteningly vulnerable. “Carson, what do you mean, he’s doing this? Where is he? Why can’t I hear him?”

“Because he’s only talking to me,” Beckett snapped. “Colonel!” he shouted at Sheppard. “Stop this right now!”

“What?” McKay sounded like a desperate child. Beckett still had one of McKay’s arms over his shoulder, and McKay’s free hand was clinging pathetically to the front of Beckett’s jacket, for support or comfort or both. “Please, tell me what’s going on! I don’t understand--how could he be causing this? He was…”

McKay stopped talking.

Sheppard could practically see the instant McKay’s intellect overrode his panicked confusion, the chaotic thoughts settling into precise and beautiful order in that incredible brain.

“The interface,” McKay whispered. “Oh my God.” And Sheppard knew he’d figured it out.

“Rodney, help me!” Sheppard said, begging.

McKay licked his lips. He turned his head to the left again, because of the ear comm. “Listen to me!” he said. “You’re upset, and you’re causing a series of cascading overloads--never mind. Just… Okay. Two thousand, four-hundred and seventeen--prime or not prime?”

“What?”

“You have to calm down!” McKay said fiercely. “Concentrate! Two thousand, four-hundred and seventeen. Is it a prime number?”

“Prime,” Sheppard said instantly, the answer coming so fast he wasn’t even sure he had thought of it. Maybe it was Atlantis, feeding him the information. And the idea of that was horrible.

The Ancient scanner, still running, began making a grinding noise. Sheppard could see it in infrared, which part was heating up.

“I said concentrate!” McKay barked. “Eight nine nine, one six two. Prime or not prime?”

“Not prime,” Sheppard said.

“Nine nine seven, one nine eight,” McKay said immediately.

“Not prime.”

“Five one five three nine.”

“Prime.”

“Six four one five six.”

“Not prime,” Sheppard said, and then realized that the room was quiet.

Beckett looked around, then stared at McKay in something close to awe. “You did it.”

McKay just nodded. He rubbed his face, wincing as he touched new burns and scratches. He left small, rust-colored streaks from the cuts on his palms. He let out a breath, and the last of his strength seemed to disappear with it, leaving him sagging against Beckett.

“Thank you,” Sheppard said.

McKay visibly flinched, then scrabbled at his left ear until he knocked the comm loose. It fell to the floor, bouncing and skidding underneath one of the beds.

“Carson,” McKay said, “keep that fucking thing away from me.”

***

McKay allowed Jinto to carry his bag and hustle him into the open rear hatch of the shuttle, out of the wind coming in off the bay.

“Well,” said Jinto brightly. “I’ve got him, Defender! As I promised Tal Weir.”

“I knew you’d do it, Jinto,” said the familiar voice. The voice he had known for decades longer as the Defender’s voice than as John Sheppard’s, McKay suddenly realized. He found that he had to sit down, right away, on the jumper’s padded bench in the back. “You always were a sweet talker, Jinto,” continued the Defender’s voice. “One of the reasons Elizabeth lets you handle all the important negotiations nowadays. Hey, McKay. Are you doing all right there?”

“Defender.” McKay closed his eye and breathed deeply, trying to calm the thudding of his heart. It had been awhile, and he had forgotten how to steel himself properly for hearing Sheppard’s voice. “I’m fine, Defender. Just old. It was a long walk to the harbor.”

“Okay,” the Defender said easily, accepting the lie. “We’ll give you a few minutes to rest up before we get underway. Why don’t you stow his stuff, Jinto. Is that all he brought? You finally learned to pack light, huh, McKay?”

“Yes,” McKay answered simply. The Defender would give McKay a few moments to collect himself, but he would want some kind of acknowledgement of his presence. Over the years, McKay had gotten accustomed to dealing with the Defender. It was just that he was out of practice, that was all. That was why it was affecting him so strongly, hearing the program speaking with John Sheppard’s voice, seeing the hologram mimicking Sheppard’s form from decades ago--from the day Sheppard died.

Which McKay would be able to see if he ever opened his eye, that was. He sighed and opened it, feeling like the proverbial Cyclops. He couldn’t spend the whole visit with his one working eye shut, and the Defender would insist on his rightful place in the festivities. That McKay didn’t really want him there was irrelevant, both to the Defender and to Weir, who would enforce compliance with the Defender’s wishes.

McKay looked up and saw the blue glow of the Defender’s holographic face peering down at him in concern.

“I’m fine, Defender,” he assured the hologram. “Well,” he amended grumpily, “other than being required to attend a social function I never asked for in the first place...”

The hologram grinned. “It’s nice to see you too, Rodney.”

“Yes, yes, let’s be on our way already. If I must go to this ridiculous party, I’d like to see my son.” McKay waved a hand to shoo the Defender out of his face.

The hologram straightened and smiled easily. “Sure, Rodney. Why don’t you come sit up front with me?” The Defender turned to Jinto. “Jinto, would you mind terribly staying back here by yourself for the return trip to the city? I’d like to speak privately to McKay for a while.”

“Of course not, Defender,” agreed Jinto graciously. “I’ve brought some work with me. I will be well occupied.” He turned a warm smile towards McKay. “I will see you again at your party, Doctor Rodney.”

And McKay let Jinto hug him and press foreheads with him, because Jinto belonged with memories of happier times, and had never been anything but kind and respectful towards him. And as an adult, Jinto had somehow managed to miraculously fill Peter Grodin’s shoes with Weir in a way that none of the official SGC replacements ever had. “I’ll see you soon,” McKay murmured, as the bulkhead door shut between them, making him flash back on Griffin, on Stackhouse and Markham--on too many other puddle jumper moments, both happy and tragic. He felt old, weary, dragging his memories behind him like a tattered train.

He settled in the copilot’s chair with a small huff for his creaky back.

“You can sit here, if you like,” the Defender offered the pilot’s chair.

“What, so I can pretend to fly the jumper while you really do the piloting? I’m not a child, or one of your students, Defender.” McKay waved a dismissive hand at him. “And don’t lie and tell me you’ll really let me fly it by myself. It’s not safe and you know it. I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to Jinto, or for losing Atlantis another jumper.”

“It would be perfectly safe,” argued the Defender, settling the hologram in the pilot’s chair, although he was completely capable of flying the jumper without it. He was integrated into the jumper itself; he didn’t need to activate the hologram. But the Defender was fond of his verisimilitude, McKay knew.

“Hmph. Not when Mary Beckett says I can stroke out at any minute,” McKay retorted. “I’ve been having several tiny strokes over the last two years. But I could have a big one any day.”

“But…Doc Beckett told me you were okay,” insisted the Defender, real anxiety and concern suffusing his voice and the expression on the hologram’s face.

“Well, I _am_ okay. Just old. There’s no cure for old age, you know. But I told you, I’m fine,” McKay said brusquely. “So, are we there yet? Let’s get this show on the road.”

The Defender smiled obligingly and sent the jumper smoothly into the air. McKay watched out of the front viewport as Emmaganville shrank beneath them: the harbor with its gaily colored boats, the white-walled, grey-roofed houses and shops and tin-roofed warehouses, the few paved roads, the bright green of the grassy commons, all diminishing magically until they were tiny and toy-like.

“It’s a nice day for this trip,” the Defender offered.

“Yes, good flying weather,” McKay returned awkwardly, peering outside as the coastline began to recede from sight.

The Defender wasn’t a bad thing, McKay thought, stealing a glance, turning his head the least amount possible. He could accept that he was at least an AI, and deserved to be thought of as a person, as Zelenka had often insisted to him. If he hadn’t looked and sounded like John Sheppard, if he didn’t insist that he _was_ John Sheppard, McKay would have found him much easier to deal with. They _had_ managed a fairly amicable working relationship over the years, even a brittle almost-friendship of a sort. The Defender was certainly willing and eager to be his friend. It made him ashamed. He should be an adult and treat the Defender better, as Zelenka and Weir had both asserted, numerous times.

But then, no one had ever consulted _his_ feelings on the matter, either. Nobody had even paused to consider what it would do to McKay’s mind and soul to be forced into interacting with this…this high-tech _ghost_ of his dead lover, haunted by him almost on a daily basis. They had all expected McKay to suck it up and deal with it. But it had worn on him. So much so that off-world missions became a welcome escape, sometimes. So much so that it had been almost a relief to have the medical excuse to retire, and move to the Mainland where he could live out whatever time he had left in solitary peace.

“McKay, I’d like to talk to you about something,” the Defender said diffidently.

“Yes?” McKay said, expecting a complaint about how he should visit the city more frequently, or go in for check-ups more often, or any of a number of things.

As usual, the Defender didn’t follow along with McKay’s expectations.

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” the Defender said, the hologram looking at the instruments, even though he certainly didn’t have to. “It’s not just your birthday they’ll be celebrating today. The Yana are celebrating Johnny’s engagement as well.”

“Damn! They’ve finally forced it on him. I’ve told him for _years_ to go ahead and pick himself a wife or the Yana would do it for him.” McKay punched the seat’s arm in emphasis. “Cara warned him the clan would never let him get away with not marrying. Ancestors rest her, she told him until the day she died.”

“She did. I remember,” the Defender agreed, a wistful tone to his voice.

McKay slumped down into a slouch. “How is Will taking it? I _know_ how Johnny’s taking it,” he said sourly.

The hologram’s face grimaced. “Strangely enough, Will’s team was scheduled to go off-world for several days. They’re not expected back until a day or two after the engagement.”

“Funny how that happens,” McKay said dryly.

“Amazing, really,” the Defender said.

McKay straightened up again, swiveling in his seat to look the hologram in the face. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

“Mira Yana Issal, Del Yana’s youngest daughter.” McKay had noted that over the years, the Defender had overcome the diffidence he’d inherited from Sheppard, and begun to follow McKay’s own habit of simply _asking_ the Villana their gender instead of languishing in awkward ignorance.

“I miss Shil Yana,” McKay commented absently, trying to dredge his memory for the girl’s face. He vaguely recalled meeting her once. “Del’s kind of a prick. And he doesn’t run the Yana clan half as well as Shil did. Not that I’m allowed an actual say in the matter, since I’m only Yana by adoption, not by birth.”

“Mmm,” nodded the Defender. “Mira’s the short one, with the longish blonde hair. Looks a little like Legolas. She likes to wear a lot of rings on her fingers.” He supplied the memory McKay was searching for.

“Oh, _her_!” McKay scowled. “Why do they think she’s a suitable wife for Johnny? She’s _boring_! And hardly intelligent enough to hold any kind of real conversation with him, much less give me the brilliant grandchildren I deserve.”

The hologram smirked at him. “ _Politics_ , McKay. Yes, she’s boring. And not the brightest star in the sky, either. But she’s the daughter of the head of the Yana. And she’s quite dutiful and obedient towards her clan, so she’ll do what they tell her--including marrying a man who doesn’t particularly want to marry her.”

“A little breeding cow, you mean,” McKay said crassly.

“She’ll give you grandchildren, Rodney,” the Defender reminded. “And she’ll keep the McKay genes in the Yana line. I suspect that Del Yana wouldn’t mind if Will made Mira pregnant as well, so they could get some of the Tal’s genes into the Yana line, however roundabout that is.”

McKay crossed his arms. “Next, I expect you’re going to inform me that her ATA gene is strong.”

“The Blood of the Ancestors flows potent in her veins,” intoned the Defender with a cheeky grin. McKay made a rude noise.

The hologram snickered, then abruptly grew serious, cocking his head.

“What is it?” McKay’s sense of danger had never left him. He sat forward on the edge of his seat. “Dammit, Defender, what--”

The Defender held up a ghostly blue hand in a stop signal. Abruptly, the formerly leisurely speed of the jumper doubled. McKay wondered what that would have felt like without the inertial dampeners.

The Defender turned sober eyes towards McKay. “It might be nothing, but Will’s team just missed their check-in.”

“What are you talking about? This is the Pegasus galaxy! It’s never ‘nothing’.” McKay rubbed his hand up and down the arm of his seat, nervously. “Can’t you make this thing move any faster?”

“Okay,” the Defender nodded slowly. “Buckle up, then, Rodney. It might be a rough ride if I sacrifice some power from the inertial dampeners for more speed. Jinto,” he warned the passenger in the back of the jumper. “Get buckled in and secure your belongings. We have an emergency in the city.”

Moments after receiving Jinto’s acknowledgement, the puddle jumper’s thrusters red-lined, going to maximum possible speed. The little ship hurtled across the sky, towards the city of the Ancestors.

***

"Hey, Carson," Sheppard said. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"John," Beckett said warmly. They were in his tiny office off the infirmary, Beckett seated at his small metal desk. He’d been reading something on his laptop screen when Sheppard had appeared, and now he stood and turned towards him, smiling.

Sheppard made a show of leaning forward and squinting at the screen, though the closest optical sensor to his hologram was actually in the ceiling, and the closest camera in the far corner. “You still using that thing?” Almost no one used the Earth laptops or tablets anymore.

Beckett just grinned unrepentantly at him. “It works perfectly--why change it?”

Sheppard grinned back. “I’m amazed it even interfaces adequately with all the other technology anymore.” He raised his hologram's eyebrows. “You must drive Rodney insane.”

“Radek, mostly,” Beckett agreed with a wickedly happy nod. “Rodney generally insists he’s ‘much too busy to deal with equipment that’s barely more advanced than writing on clay tablets’, and foists me off on the poor man whenever I have a problem.” Beckett had McKay’s clipped, irritated tone down almost perfectly, despite Beckett’s accent.

“And to think that these used to be the best machines the SGC had to offer.” Sheppard shook his head sadly. “So fickle.”

“Aye,” Beckett said, with mock seriousness. “He has no sense of loyalty, our Rodney.”

Sheppard was certain Beckett had meant it as a joke, but the jibe was like a sudden stab--sharp and deep--and though Sheppard didn’t gasp anymore, whatever expression had crossed his artificial face stopped Beckett’s smile cold.

Beckett’s blue eyes went wide and a little horrified. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean--It was just a joke. Just a stupid, bloody joke. I’m such a fool. I’m sorry!”

“It’s all right,” Sheppard said quickly. He raised a hand to cut off Beckett’s rising spiral of self-recrimination. He forced out a new smile. “I know you were joking--no harm done.” It wasn’t exactly news to anyone that he and McKay hadn’t been close for a long time.

“I’m really very sorry,” Beckett said anyway.

“It’s okay, honestly,” Sheppard said. He was very careful not to roll his eyes--a habit he’d never lost, even though he didn’t actually see out of them. He made the smile as warm as he could. “So,” he said briskly, “what did you want to see me about?”

Beckett hesitated for a second, and Sheppard silently braced himself for another round of apologies, but then Beckett just gave a tiny nod and smiled again, though it still looked uncertain. “Nothing pressing, actually,” he said. He gestured at the laptop’s small screen. “I’ve just been going over the medical files you, ah, liberated from the ship our visitors from Earth came in. I was thinking that we’d never get two words out of them now on whatever medical breakthroughs they may have had since their war ended, so this is fantastic.” He glanced down at Sheppard’s light blue hands, then stuffed both of his into the beige pockets of his homespun lab coat. He looked a bit self-conscious, as if he’d intended to shake Sheppard’s hand and had just reminded himself that he couldn’t. “I wanted to thank you in person.”

 _In person_. It was almost funny how to nearly everyone ‘in person’ meant his hologram. If Beckett had thanked him via the communication links to Atlantis implanted in everyone’s ears, it would have been no less personal. It was as if they kept forgetting that Sheppard was pretty much everywhere, all the time; that he didn’t actually inhabit the body he projected for himself.

Atlantis was his real body, now. The hologram was just a façade. An interface.

Even McKay spoke to him via the hologram, more often than not. Sheppard supposed it made a convenient focal point for him.

“You’re welcome,” he said grandly. “I figured, since I was poking around the _Krishna_ ’s systems anyway, might as well copy their database.” He made his hologram shrug. “You know--make it worthwhile and all.”

“Oh, aye.” Beckett was nodding sincerely, as if Sheppard hadn’t been kidding. “It was definitely worthwhile. Rodney must be over the moon.”

“I’m sure he is,” Sheppard said, and he was positive his smile twisted a little. The last time he’d spoken to McKay was two days ago, right after the briefing with the _Krishna_ bridge crew. He’d thanked McKay--seriously, gratefully--for using his given name for the first time in eleven years. And McKay had told him it had just been for solidarity, to show a united front against a potential enemy. He didn’t want to arouse suspicions by using the Defender’s formal title when talking to his four-year old son.

He’d apologized, though, which Sheppard had to admit had been pretty big of him. McKay had even seemed like he’d meant it.

But they hadn’t spoken since. Not that that was unusual.

Sheppard had left an e-mail in McKay’s inbox with the attached files. He was fairly certain McKay had appreciated it.

“So,” Sheppard said quickly, before Beckett could notice his change in demeanor and start another miserably awkward barrage of apologies, “like I said--all part of the service.” He put nonexistent hands in nonexistent pockets and rocked back on his heels, soundlessly moving against the infirmary’s metal floor. He smiled disarmingly. “I’m just glad I found the right stuff. It was a big database.”

“You certainly did,” Beckett said, but his smile had gone uncertain again. “I did want to thank you, but that wasn’t the only reason I called you to my office.”

Sheppard smirked, though he was suddenly wary. “That sounds ominous.”

“What? Oh. Sorry, no. Nothing ominous, nothing like that,” Beckett said. “It’s just that, well…” He sighed. “I’m sorry, John--there’s nothing from the _Krishna_ that could help with your request.”

“Oh,” Sheppard said. He tried to haul up yet another smile. “Well, lucky I didn’t have my heart set on it, then.”

And he hadn’t. Really. It wasn’t like it would have changed anything--at least not with McKay. He knew that. It was just…

Sometimes he was a little sick of the hologram. Just a little. And it would have been nice to touch things again, be able to feel, see and hear the way everyone else did.

It would have been nice. That was all. It would have been nice.

“I’m sorry,” Beckett said, for what felt like the millionth time. “If we had any way to contact the Asgard, it might be another story. But even if we had the information, we don’t have that kind of technology. He spread his hands, helpless. “We have enough of your DNA on file to clone you, yes, but no way to produce an adult body. And definitely no way to transfer your consciousness into it.” He smiled, but it was just another form of apology. “I’m truly sorry, John.”

Sheppard shrugged again, like it had only been a passing thought, nothing at all. And it had been. Really. “I was just curious,” he said. “No big deal.” He stretched his smile into a grin. “Besides, I’m kind of used to the whole incorporeal thing--it’d be weird having to worry about stuff like eating or sleeping.”

“Aye.” Beckett chuckled, looking relieved. “There’s times I wish I didn’t have to worry about those things, myself.”

“Sure,” Sheppard said, though his grin had slipped to a tight, thin smile. “I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.”

***

"Oh good, there you are," McKay said. He sounded anxious and distracted. He was standing outside the door to the living quarters he shared with Cara Yana Astal and their baby, head tilted and obviously listening.

"As requested," Sheppard said formally, though he couldn't help the grin. McKay had never asked him to his quarters before, not unless it was for something Cara wanted.

Sheppard's grin dipped a bit, as he switched his audio pickup to inside McKay's quarters. "Why are you out here if your baby's crying? Do you need me to open the door?" He could have done that from anywhere in the city, though. There was no need for McKay to ask him to have his hologram actually appear right there in the corridor.

"No, it's okay. I mean, it's not okay," McKay said. "But, he's not dying, or anything." McKay's one eye widened. "He's not dying or anything, is he? Can you check?"

"Sure," Sheppard said. He was confused, but he called up the optical feed from the sensors inside McKay's quarters instead of wasting time asking McKay about it. John Yana McKay was lying on the floor pallet Cara had brought over from her home planet and insisted was safer and more pleasant than a crib. He was on his back, little legs bent and little arms vibrating with his misery. His eyes were squeezed shut, mouth open and trembling as he shrieked.

"Shh… Shh… It's okay, little guy. It's okay…" Sheppard used the intercom to try and soothe him. He also made sure the temperature of the baby's room wasn't too hot or too cold, dipping into the city's medical database to verify the healthy range for human infants. He checked the composition of the air in the room for good measure, determining that it was the same as everywhere else in Atlantis. So at least the baby wasn't too hot, too cold, or being poisoned.

The baby blinked his eyes open long enough to see that the room was still empty, and then clenched them tight again. He never stopped his pitiful wails.

"It’s okay, Buddy, no one's hurting you…" There was only so much Sheppard could do without being able to pick the baby up, and Johnny ignored him entirely, just shrieking like everything had ended in his tiny little world.

"He's fine physically," Sheppard said to McKay, back out in the corridor. "But he's screaming his head off. Why are you out here?"

"We're trying to train him to fall asleep on his own," McKay said miserably. He ran his hand over his face, then crossed his arms. He was all hunched up at the shoulders, leaning against the door like he'd been beat up and could barely stand. "Cara's been telling me how important it is for a baby to learn to self-soothe, instead of relying on a parent." He sounded like he was quoting something he'd heard too many times. Johnny's screaming changed pitch, and McKay flinched. "God. I feel like a monster."

"I can see why you would," Sheppard said. He watched McKay stare at the door with such anxious longing it was almost painful. "So, uh, what do you want me to do?"

"Make sure John doesn't choke to death or have an aneurysm," McKay said. He ran his hand over his face again, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "And, uh, keep me from going insane, mostly. So I don't rush in there and undo three days of suffering that will probably keep Kate Heightmeyer's protégés busy for the entirety of their careers."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Sheppard said. "He probably won't even remember this."

"Sure," McKay said. He was still looking crumpled and in pain. "My son is all alone in there screaming until his lungs bleed, but at least he won't consciously remember this when in later life he's trying to deal with his abandonment complex. Somehow that fails to be comforting."

"Maybe we should take a walk," Sheppard said. "Just down the corridor!" he amended, when McKay's eye went impossibly wider in horror. "I'm still monitoring him! I promise I'll let you know the second he needs you."

"He needs me _now_ ," McKay all but wailed himself. But he dutifully shuffled a few feet away from the door, though he was still hunched and kept looking back like his quarters would explode if he turned his head for too long.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to him," Sheppard said.

McKay gave a tiny nod. “Great.” He took a breath. "I hate this. I hate this. Why did I let Cara talk me into this? I never listen to anybody. Why should I listen to her about torturing my son?"

"He'll be fine," Sheppard said, again, making his voice sound certain and confident. "He'll probably fall asleep in a minute or two."

McKay shook his head. "He's been crying for an _hour_."

"Oh," Sheppard said. "An hour? Really?"

"Not helping," McKay said through gritted teeth. "Not helping. _Not helping_."

"Sorry," Sheppard said.

They went a few more feet down the corridor.

"I can still hear him," McKay said. They'd barely moved two meters away from the door, but Sheppard was privately surprised that the quarters weren't more sound-proof than that. McKay looked at Sheppard helplessly. "He's going to make himself sick, isn't he? I mean, all that stress." McKay put the side of his hand to his mouth. The fingers of his other hand were running back and forth over his thumb, as if the movement could bleed out his anxiety. "Oh no--what if he gets pneumonia? We're out of penicillin--"

"McKay!" It was the voice Sheppard had used on missions, to snap McKay out of whatever anxiety or thrill-of-discovery feedback loop he'd gotten stuck in. To get him moving, thinking straight.

He was as surprised as McKay looked when McKay stopped mid-sentence and snapped his mouth shut. Maybe more. They hadn't gone on a mission together in over eight years, after all.

And McKay hadn't really paid attention to him in a long time.

"It's not going to kill him, McKay," Sheppard said, more quietly. "Do you really think Cara would have told you to do this if it was dangerous?"

McKay's mouth thinned. But, "No," he said, though it looked like he didn't enjoy having to admit it.

"Then I think you can trust her," Sheppard said, gently now. "I think Johnny is going to be all right."

McKay nodded, though he still looked tight and anxious. "I hate this," he said.

"I know," Sheppard said.

They stood together in silence for awhile, McKay leaning against the wall, and Sheppard pretending to, the blue glow from his hologram casting eerie, watery luminance into the near-dark of the corridor. They listened to the faint sounds of Johnny's cries. Atlantis' internal clock told Sheppard another ten minutes went by.

"I can do this," McKay said. He was leaning his head back against the wall, looking up at the dark ceiling, his eye patch like an extra layer of shadow on his face. "I've lived through nanoviruses and nuclear explosions. I've survived Genii attacks and helped stop the Wraith. I…" He glanced at Sheppard, then swallowed and looked back up at the ceiling. "I can wait right here until my baby learns how to sleep."

"Yes, you can," Sheppard said, doing his best to school his expression to complete confidence. Then, softly, "I'm still here, Rodney." Because he knew that was what McKay had been going to say, but hadn't: _I've lost John_.

"John Sheppard is dead," McKay said. It had the quality of rote to it, now, but Sheppard knew it was only because McKay believed it absolutely. It was like a prayer.

"I'm right here," Sheppard said again.

"Stop it," McKay said, sighing. "Just stop it. Please."

Sheppard's holographic chest expanded, like he was taking a breath. He almost could imagine he was sighing himself, almost. Just like he could convince himself, sometimes, that he was speaking with his lips and tongue and the lungs he didn't actually possess instead of only electronically, though the implants all the city-dwellers had now.

He had come to understand keenly how much one's sanity depended on these kinds of illusions.

But he stopped talking when McKay asked him to. There was nothing he could say, anyway. He knew that--this was an old, bitter argument. But Sheppard couldn't help himself, sometimes. Like pressing on scar tissue, no matter how much it hurt.

"It wouldn't hurt this much if I wasn't real." Sheppard hadn't meant to say it aloud, but McKay was listening to his baby, facing away from him, and if he'd heard he didn't say anything.

"I think he's quieting down," Sheppard said.

McKay nodded, still facing away. "Could you check on him, please?"

"Sure," Sheppard said, glad to be doing something. He concentrated and read the visuals and audio from Johnny's room again. The baby was nearly asleep, occasionally punctuating his soft breaths with little disgruntled moaning noises, but they were getting fewer and farther between. "He's just about down for the count," Sheppard said.

"Oh thank God," McKay said, closing his eye in obvious relief.

Sheppard pulled up one of his lazy smiles, shoving the hurt away like all the other times. He had been a master of never showing what he was feeling, long before he'd become the Defender. "See? No problem at all."

"Right," McKay said. He exhaled loudly, letting his head drop and palming his face. "I never, ever want to do that again." He looked back at Sheppard, gave him a tiny, lopsided smile. "Thank you."

It was heartfelt, and for a moment Sheppard could only blink, shocked into stillness. He couldn't remember the last time McKay had thanked him and it hadn't been perfunctory, or an obligation forced on him by the Tal. McKay never thanked machines.

"You're welcome," Sheppard said at last. His voice sounded rough to the audio sensors, which was crazy, since it was produced mechanically and was incapable of the subtleties of normal human speech. He licked lips he couldn't feel, a still-automatic gesture. "I love him too, you know. Johnny," he added, as if McKay needed to know who he meant.

McKay's head jerked back, showing his shock at the words, and Sheppard mentally prepared himself for the outburst, the fury that he should dare to even approximate that emotion for McKay's child.

But McKay's didn't say any of that, didn't even look angry. "I guess that's good," he said finally. His mouth moved in something short of an actual smile. "If it means you'll help look after him."

 _With my life_ , Sheppard wanted to say, but he knew an oath like that would be meaningless to McKay, so instead he said, "Absolutely," with as much conviction as he could, trying to show it on his face, though he doubted McKay cared about any of his expressions.

"Thank you," McKay said again. He smirked, small and sad. "With a father like me, he'll need all the help he can get."

"He's lucky to have you," Sheppard said, and he was glad that a synthesized voice couldn't waver.

They were quiet again after that. Sheppard checked on the baby a few more times, finding him sleeping peacefully. He told McKay each time but only got a nod and small smile in return. But McKay didn't seem to want to go home, and Sheppard was more than happy to just be there with him. They were standing so close together that Sheppard could imagine that he could feel the heat from McKay's body, pretend that with just a slight movement of his hand, they would touch.

For a few moments, it was almost like it had always been.

"I would give anything for you to be real," McKay said suddenly, speaking without looking at Sheppard. "For my son to somehow belong to both of us. Anything."

He pushed himself away from the wall, and Sheppard watched his stiff back as McKay walked back to his quarters. He'd gotten thinner over the years. Sheppard could easily see the outline of McKay's shoulder blades through the grey of his t-shirt. Atlantis had thousands, possibly millions, of recordings of McKay, of course, but Sheppard didn't know when he'd stopped noticing those details.

But wasn't that human, though? Not to notice? Didn't that make him real?

McKay disappeared into his quarters without looking back, and Sheppard could have easily followed him--could be looking at him right now, if he wanted, talking to him--but he didn't. He just let him go.

"I'm right here, Rodney," Sheppard said. And for a moment the corridor lights burst into terrible, shocking brightness, white as pain.

***

"Wait," McKay was saying, "we're waiting for the _hologram?_ How can it be late?"

The surge of frustration wasn't unexpected, but the intensity of it was. Sheppard managed to catch himself before he did something stupid like make the lights flare or slam the doors to the briefing room open and shut. But it was hard; he was angry.

It had been two years. Two fucking _years_ , and McKay was still calling him 'the hologram' as often as not. Like that's all he was: a mindless collection of light.

"Rodney!" Weir snapped, very loudly. Sheppard was using the camera set high in a corner, nearly against the ceiling, so all he could really see was the top of everyone's heads, but Weir leaning forward and smacking her palms down hard on the tabletop was pretty telling. Zelenka had been absorbed in the data on his tablet, and he startled so badly he nearly sent the thing flying. Even McKay jumped a bit.

"For the last time, Rodney," Weir said with acid calm, "if you don't start calling the Defender by his title or proper name, I will relieve you of your position until I have sufficient proof that you can manage appropriate forms of address. Is that understood?"

 _Wow_ , Sheppard thought.

He figured he should have expected it, but somehow Weir's…protectiveness of him was still surprising. Had she always been like this? When he wasn't the Defender but just Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard? _When you were alive_ , his traitorous mind--or whatever he had for a mind, now, whatever it was--whispered. _When you were real, when you were whole_. He shoved the thought away, buried it. He was still all of those things, just like he'd told Zelenka. He believed that. He did.

He would have liked to think so, but he kind of doubted it. Maybe Weir thought she owed him.

Sheppard couldn't tell from his vantage point exactly, but it looked like McKay and Weir locked eyes for a moment--a pretty long moment, actually--before McKay gave a tiny, rapid nod and turned away. "My apologies, Tal," McKay said, sounding like the words were cutting his tongue. "It won't happen again."

"Good. See that it doesn't." Weir also nodded, then sat back in her chair.

"Should we, ah, continue without the Defender, then?" Zelenka asked. He sounded nervous, and was looking back and forth from Weir to McKay. He was fingering his tablet, and his thumb must have brushed something, because the large display screen behind him started flickering. Sheppard didn't miss how Zelenka could have said 'him' but had purposely used his title.

"No need," he said smoothly, making sure his voice hit all three of their ear comms at once. Normally he would have announced his presence and coalesced his hologram slowly--constantly startling people had gotten old about a year ago--but this time he just blinked in at the same moment. Maybe it was petty, but he wanted everyone to be surprised. He automatically switched from using the camera to the optical sensors set in the walls, allowing a nice 360-degree view of the room.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, choosing his most charming smile for Weir. "I was just tweaking the chromatics. Turns out hair color is weirdly difficult to pin down," he added with mock seriousness.

The shock on everyone's faces was oddly gratifying. Weir recovered first, of course, blinking then giving him a delighted smile.

"John!" she said. "You look wonderful!"

Zelenka was nodding along with Weir's exclamation, looking impressed. "Most well done," he said. "Impossible to tell you are not flesh and blood. Like you were never…Wounded."

Sheppard heard the faltering on the choice of word, but he ignored it. He spread his hologram's hands--his human-colored, flesh tone hands--trying to hide how pleased he was by their reactions with nonchalance. "Well, you know," he said casually, "now that McKay's got us rolling in ZPMs, I figured we could spare the juice for a little upgrade." His grin (white teeth!) probably spoiled the apparent indifference, but he didn't care. "You like it?"

"Definitely." Zelenka nodded again. "It is good to see you looking like yourself."

"Very much," Weir agreed, smiling warmly.

McKay had gone white as soon as Sheppard had appeared in the room. He didn't say anything at all.

"What do you think, McKay?" Sheppard asked, forcing himself to turn the hologram towards him. He could see McKay perfectly, regardless of which direction the hologram was facing, but he didn't want to be rude. "Did I color inside the lines?"

McKay's hands were splayed marble on the tabletop, his good eye wide and luminescent blue. He still didn't speak. His mouth and throat were working almost like he was struggling for air.

"Rodney?" Weir asked. Her anger from earlier had apparently been forgotten--her voice was all gentle concern. "Are you all right?"

McKay didn't even glance at her. "I'm fine," he said, voice tight, still looking at Sheppard. He blinked and seemed to wrench his gaze away, staring fixedly at his tablet. "Can we move things along, please?"

Sheppard was sure it was meant to be his usual sour disdain. It sounded like a plea.

"Of course," Weir said, though she gave Sheppard a quick, almost apologetic smile before turning her attention to Zelenka and McKay. "You gentlemen were saying something about a fantastic discovery?"

"Yes!" Zelenka said in obvious excitement. He looked at McKay, but McKay had stopped speaking again. He still looked like stone, his eye fixed on his tablet.

Zelenka faltered for a second, then took the lead. "The Hive ship in orbit around M4J-1S2 had apparently just finished a culling when we sent the Wraith into hibernation," he said. "Most of the people in…" He made a face. "…storage were still alive."

"Yes." Weir nodded, and Sheppard admired her patience. "We've helped settle most of them on the Mainland, since their home world was destroyed."

"Yes, true." Zelenka nodded as well. He gave another, quick, almost fretful glance at McKay, but McKay still wasn't speaking. "But what you do not know is that their home planet _surface_ is entirely destroyed, yes. But the Wraith missed something. Something big. Probably because they were not looking." He grinned, though it looked like his heart wasn't totally in it, without McKay’s competitive enthusiasm. Then he tapped the center of his tablet, and a large diagram appeared on the screen against the wall. It looked vaguely like the weapons platform Gaul had discovered over three years ago, but was obviously far larger. It was also more graceful in design, as if meant to welcome, rather than repel. It was beautiful.

"Space station," Zelenka said triumphantly, when Weir looked questioningly from the screen to him. "This is Ancient space station. And we have zero-point modules to give it power."

"I'm sorry," McKay said suddenly. "I can't do this now. I have to go." And he began walking out of the room.

"What? Why?" Zelenka looked almost comically crestfallen. He gestured helplessly at the large screen. "We were--"

"Rodney? Rodney!" Weir said at the same time. Her voice was a mixture of irritation and worry.

"I'm sorry," McKay said again, quick and clipped in the doorway. He didn't even pause.

"I'll handle it," Sheppard said immediately, before either Zelenka or Weir could move. He blinked out, using Atlantis to follow McKay.

It wasn't difficult. Aside from the cameras the expedition had installed, there were so many sensors and projectors for his holographic body built into Atlantis' ceilings and walls that there was almost no place Sheppard couldn't see or hear, almost no place he couldn't be. It made him wonder, sometimes, how far ahead the Ancients had been thinking. If they knew that someday, inevitably, someone was going to end up the way he had, and had built a hologram-friendly city ahead of time to accommodate them. It was a strange, scary thought: that they'd been so absolutely certain that things would one day go so badly south that only the sacrifice he'd made would fix anything.

He wished that they'd left some kind of a warning.

But even without all the feeds allowing him to follow McKay through Atlantis, it would have been easy enough to use the life signs detector, easy enough to track a single, white dot, moving with nearly frantic speed to one of the city's piers.

Sheppard could have been waiting for McKay, but he gave him a few minutes, just watching. The piers and balconies had fewer sensors and projectors, and no cameras, but they were still sufficient to let him see the tense lines of McKay's back, his hunched shoulders as he stood in front of the railing.

"Hey," Sheppard said gently into McKay's ear comm. McKay didn't so much as twitch, as if he'd been expecting him, but Sheppard didn't know if that meant anything good. He coalesced slowly this time, next to McKay. He wished he could see McKay's face, but he was limited to the optical feed from the walls behind them, so he could still only see the hologram and McKay's backs. He was still trying to get used to that--being almost omnipotent and yet so limited at the same time. He doubted he'd ever really manage it.

All the same, he had no trouble seeing that McKay glanced at him and then away, so fast McKay could barely have seen him at all.

"Stop looking like that," McKay said. His voice didn't carry well over the sound of the waves and the wind, but Sheppard didn't have human ears, and heard everything McKay said. His voice sounded taut, like he was speaking through pain. "You have to stop looking like that."

Sheppard watched his hologram's back shift, the dark brown hair, the deep grey of the uniform jacket. There was a tiny sliver visible on the back of his neck, just above the collar, in the same medium skin tone he'd always had. It looked like _him_ , like he'd always been. He still thought of himself like that--colored in like a real person, despite the artificial blue of the hologram.

"I have a right to look--" _like me_ , he thought. "--normal," he said.

" _Please_ ,” McKay said. And his head canted forward a little, like his shoulders were giving out under some tremendous weight. Sheppard could only imagine what McKay's face would look like. His eye. "Please," McKay repeated. "I can't… I have to see you _every day_ , and you look like…" His arm moved, rubbing a hand over his face. "Please." He was almost whispering, the words tossed back to the city by the wind. "I can't do it. I won't be able to do it."

"I have a right," Sheppard said again, but he knew he was losing.

"I know," McKay said. "I know you do. Just… Please."

Sheppard thought of Weir's delighted smile, of not standing out all the time, everywhere. Of skin that looked like skin, not like the projection of a machine.

"Okay," he said. "Sure, okay."

If anyone ever asked, after that, he would just tell them that he didn't see the point in spending power on something trivial, even if they could technically spare it. And it wasn't like he minded the blue, anyway. He was used to it.

***

Johnny Yana McKay laughed with glee as the jumper responded eagerly to his commands, skimming low over the ocean waves.

“Ancestors! Johnny, Johnny, look! Is that a ‘Lantis Whale?” Will Lorne pointed out the front viewport of the jumper, jostling Johnny’s elbow in his excitement.

Sheppard unobtrusively steadied the motion of the jumper, negating the movement caused by the jostling.

“Don’t distract me, Will!” Johnny ordered crossly, scowling a very McKay-like scowl. “I gotta _concentrate_ on what I’m doing, here.” The jumper weaved back and forth as he tried to make it go forward in a straight line. Sheppard smiled to himself at how much McKay’s son was like his father.

“Sorry, Johnny,” said Will, subdued.

“Hey, Squirt,” Sheppard addressed Johnny. “How about letting your buddy drive for a while? He hasn’t had a turn yet.”

Will brightened, a grin blooming on his face.

Johnny’s scowl deepened momentarily, before he almost visibly reminded himself that he was a Yana, and Yanas were gracious when sharing resources. Sheppard could practically hear Cara’s voice in his ‘nephew’s’ mind. Johnny straightened and nodded regally. Sometimes the boy was his mother’s son just as much as he was almost frighteningly his father’s.

Sheppard kept the jumper flying steadily while the boys switched seats. After Will settled in the pilot’s seat, Sheppard devoted some time and attention to the finer points of teaching him to fly. Will was actually much better at flying the Jumper than his friend--not that either Will or Sheppard were foolish enough to point this out. At rare intervals, Johnny could display flashes of the famous McKay ire, and it was not a pretty sight. Besides, the younger boy had been up in a jumper before, with his dad, and undoubtedly Lorne had let him have a few minutes at the controls whenever it was safe. Just as Johnny had logged more time in Atlantis’ labs than many of his age-mates, because of his own father.

Freed from the task of flying the jumper, Johnny peered out of the forward viewport, perhaps hoping for another glimpse of the ‘Lantis Whale now that he didn’t have to concentrate on flying. For a long while, there was peace and a companionable silence amongst the three of them.

Satisfied that Will was handling the jumper well, Sheppard relegated a smaller percentage of his attention to it as he turned to Johnny. “So, Squirt,” he said casually. “You wanna tell me what you two were doing hiding out in the jumper bay?”

Johnny’s scowl returned.

“We were hiding from Uncle Rodney,” Will volunteered. “Johnny’s mad at him and doesn’t want to lose his temper and say anything that would get him in trouble.”

“Traitor!” Johnny muttered resentfully.

Will darted an anxious look Johnny’s way before focusing on the jumper again. “I was only trying to help, Johnny, really.”

“It’s not like I’m going to tell anybody,” Sheppard said mildly.

“Oh, that’s _so_ not true!” Johnny denied hotly. “You tell on me _all the time_ , Uncle John!”

“Only when you’re about to do something stupid and get in trouble anyway,” Sheppard protested reasonably.

“Ah. So, pretty much all the time then,” said Will dryly.

Sheppard snickered.

“I hate you both!” Johnny declared, folding his arms defiantly and slumping in his seat.

Will glanced over with another one of those anxious looks, but didn’t say anything.

“So, then, what did your dad do to drive you into exile in the jumper bay?” Sheppard asked.

“Papa was being a total jerk--controlling, overbearing, and _completely unreasonable_ ,” accused the boy.

“I hate to say this, Squirt, but that doesn’t sound very different from his everyday behavior,” Sheppard replied, keeping a very bland expression on the face of the hologram. “What in _particular_ did he do?”

More resentful silence.

“Um, he _was_ kind of nasty after he got back from the parent-teacher conference,” Will volunteered, earning himself another muttered ‘traitor!’ and eye roll from the co-pilot’s chair.

“Hey, are you having trouble in school?” Now Sheppard was really concerned.

“No! My grades are _fine_ ,” Johnny protested. “It’s just that Papa feels like he can dictate every aspect of my life. I wanted to get into the Linguistics program. Erta Lev Simpson gets to take it. _Her_ mom and dad are _encouraging_ her to follow her _own_ interests, instead of trying to stuff her into a little box.”

“Um,” Sheppard began, but now that the floodgates were open, the torrent was unstoppable.

“‘Why do you want to study that squishy stuff for? It’s not even for real scientists. It’s for the feebleminded, who can’t hack the math’.” Johnny’s voice rose in eerie imitation. “‘Why can’t you want to be a chemist, like your mother? At least that’s marginally useful’.”

“Hey, hey, easy, Squirt, easy…” Sheppard used his most soothing tones, wishing desperately he could hold the child in his arms…or maybe he was too old for that, and it wouldn’t be cool to hug his Uncle John. If he’d been a normal uncle, he still could have put an arm around the boy, ruffled his hair maybe. But if he’d been normal--if he still had a body--Johnny would probably never have been born in the first place. Although McKay’s marriage to Cara Yana Astal had been devastating, Sheppard had loved his little namesake almost from the start. And right now Johnny looked very near tears--Sheppard felt anxious with the need to comfort him, and helpless to do so.

“He’s just so…so _vile_ sometimes! I really, really hate him!” With that announcement, Johnny slid out of his seat and escaped to the back of the jumper.

Sheppard monitored him with the jumper’s systems, while keeping his hologram carefully facing forward. It was amazing how people always instinctively oriented on the hologram, as if the hologram was actually somehow himself. He’d had ample time, over the years, to regret the initial decision to use it as a focus point.

“So, how are you doing, Will?” Sheppard didn’t want to neglect the other boy.

Will shrugged carelessly, a very adult-looking mask of indifference on his face. “I’m doing okay in school, if that’s what you’re asking. My dad is okay with whatever I want to study, and my mom is too. Auntie Elizabeth keeps giving me these ‘talks’ on ‘leadership,’ though,” he commented.

“Does that bother you?” Sheppard asked carefully. He knew, as did all the adults of Weir’s Household, and Beckett, of course, that Will was genetically Elizabeth Weir’s son, but Will himself hadn’t been told yet. The Tal wanted him to be a bit older before explaining why she’d thought the demands of her position wouldn’t allow her to take the time or physical burdens of pregnancy and motherhood.

“Nah.” Will shrugged again. “They’re just boring. She doesn’t rant like Uncle Rodney does.” He paused. “Uncle John? Why is he so mean sometimes?”

“Well, Rodney...” Sheppard was silent a moment. “Not that it gives him any excuse to be mean, to you or to Johnny, but… I think sometimes he says things he doesn’t realize are mean when he says them, you know?”

“Johnny does that too, sometimes,” Will confided in a soft voice. “It’s like he opens his mouth and whatever he’s thinking, whether it’s nasty or not, just comes out.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard nodded.

“But Johnny will be nasty to _anybody_ , not just me,” Will added.

“Believe me, Rodney is nasty to everybody too, you guys just don’t get to see much of that.” Sheppard made the hologram’s eyebrows waggle. Will stifled a giggle.

“The Great Rodney McKay, Preserver of the City of the Ancestors,” Johnny intoned sarcastically as he stalked back up to his seat, brazening out his earlier emotional lapse and silently daring anyone to say anything about it. “I can’t live up to that! It’s impossible. I don’t _want_ to live up to that!”

“You don’t have to, Squirt,” Sheppard offered gently. “He’ll get over it. Just bide your time. You’re a Yana _and_ a McKay--you inherited stubborn genes from _both_ sides of the family.”

“I guess,” Johnny said sullenly.

An uncomfortable silence filled the jumper.

“So, Uncle John,” said Will with somewhat forced brightness, obviously desperate to change the subject. “Have you heard how Nana Sora is doing?”

Sheppard arched the hologram’s eyebrow, positive that this was not a conversational gambit likely to be successful in increasing the level of cheer. _Three, two, one…_

“What would _he_ care about how Nana Sora is doing?” accused Johnny bitterly. “ _He_ sent her away!”

Yep, right on schedule.

“We’ve had this discussion before, Squirt,” Sheppard said patiently. “I didn’t send Sora away, I sent her _home_. I set her free, Johnny. It was wrong to keep her in slavery.”

“She wasn’t a slave, she was a Penitent, working to redeem herself because of her crimes,” Johnny said. “I know what she did, Uncle John. I’m not _stupid_. Mama told me all about it. You sent her away from everybody she knew, from her home. She didn’t remember the Genii anymore! Why should she want to live with them?”

“It’s _because_ she didn’t remember who she had been, or what she had done, that I sent her home.” Sheppard shrugged again, casually. “Your Nana Sora wasn’t the same person who killed my friend Teyla. She wasn’t the same person who betrayed Atlantis. Johnny, do you think your Nana Sora would kill anybody?”

“Of course not!” Johnny said hotly.

“Exactly,” Sheppard said, nodding. “She’s not a danger to Atlantis. And you don’t need her anymore, Squirt. So I sent her home.”

Silence.

“But we miss her, Uncle John,” said Will, softly, his face wistful. Johnny turned his head sharply to hide the tears that Sheppard could still see with the jumper’s optical sensors. The boy sniffed.

“I know guys,” said Sheppard. “I’m sorry you miss her. But she probably had family and friends at home that have missed her for years. It wasn’t right to keep her here.”

Sheppard contemplated the irony. As a man without his original body, he hadn’t been able to go through with the farce of owning a slave without her original mind. His instinctive revulsion towards slavery aside, he had just been unable to bear the thought of having to deal with the woman every day, a painful reminder of events he’d rather not dwell on. So he had taken the loophole offered in the Villana’s terms of punishment. There had been no fallout from the decision, either, other than the boys’ resentment. McKay and Ronon were probably relieved not to have her around. Weir thought it was his decision to make. And neither the Villana clan leaders nor the Athosians had uttered a peep. Sometimes being the semi-mythical Defender had its perks. Rarely, but sometimes.

Sheppard clapped his hologram’s hands together and simulated a clapping sound over the communication implants in the boys’ ears. “I tell you what, guys. We can always fly to the Mainland another day. How would you boys like to fly into space? You haven’t been to the space station before, have you?”

***

"Papa." Johnny had his eyes closed, with his index finger rubbing against his forehead, a gesture so familiar it was startling. "Could we not do this now? Please?"

"Oh, we're doing this now," McKay said. He had his arms crossed, glaring up at his son. "I think now is a perfect time to find out when the hell my offspring officially lost his _mind_ and decided not to tell me."

"Fine." Johnny sighed, with the weary grace of someone who had done this kind of thing far too many times before, which had the effect of making McKay's ire skyrocket--which he was certain had been the point. "Can we at least please not do this in the gate room?"

"Right," McKay snapped. "Because no one here has ever seen me ream anyone out in the gate room before. What shall we ever do about their poor, gentle sensibilities?" But Johnny got that pinched look that Cara always put on whenever she thought McKay was being 'particularly offensive', as she called it. McKay wasn't sure which one of them he hated that look on more, then decided it was a toss-up and grabbed his son by his arm. "Fine." He started dragging Johnny towards the stairs leading up to the control room. "We'll go to a nice, private place and you can tell me when, exactly, my only child became a pod person."

"I still don't know what the hell your problem is, Papa!" Johnny yanked his arm back angrily, but he still followed McKay up the stairs and right into Weir's office, and McKay mentally congratulated himself that the kid would still obey him, if only sporadically. Then, "Hey!" he said, apparently noting where they were for the first time. "We can't have a fight in the Tal's office!"

"Oh please." McKay rolled his one eye. "I fight with the Tal in her office all the time. Besides, she's on the Mainland, doing some kind of Kumbaya thing with the locals. She won't _care_ ," he added finally, when Johnny shot him a look that also reminded McKay of himself. A lot.

"I care," Johnny said. "It's disrespectful."

"No, it's expedient," McKay shot back. "What's _disrespectful_ is my son agreeing to have _brain surgery_ without even telling me, let alone asking me what I think about it!"

Johnny had the gall to look affronted, and McKay scowled.

"I'm twenty years old!" Johnny said. "Since when do I need your permission for anything? And it's not 'brain surgery', for the love of the Ancestors! It's a simple procedure!"

"Yeah--a 'simple procedure' that puts a freaking _chip_ in your head so a computer program--"

"Don't talk about my uncle that way," Johnny snapped, cutting McKay off. His eyes were narrowed and truly angry. "He's not a computer program. He's the Defender."

McKay took a breath, feeling absurdly like he was physically crushing what he was going to say in reply down into his chest. _Just because he has a fancy name doesn't make him more than code_. "Fine," he said instead, because he knew from long, bitter experience that saying anything else would get him worse than nowhere, and the last thing he wanted to do was have Johnny storm off in a rage--they'd gotten all too good at not talking to each other for days, and this was too important. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're letting the senior Beckett put a chip into your brain. That's just stupid. And insane. And did I mention stupid?"

Now it was Johnny's turn to roll his eyes. "It's two computer chips, Papa. Two. One in the right occipital lobe," and he gestured to the back of his head, "and one in the auditory cortex." He gestured vaguely at the side of his head. "Both tiny enough to be injected like a vaccine. It's not a big deal. I won't even need anesthetic."

"All right," McKay sighed. He rubbed his forehead, then realized that Johnny had been doing the exact same thing down in the gate room, and stopped abruptly. "Let's assume that you've convinced me this isn't a lobotomy in a syringe--which you haven't, by the way--and move on to the fun and exciting part where you convince me that it'll be really cool to have _circuitry in your head_."

Johnny crossed his arms and titled his head with an expression of exasperation that was pure Cara except for being entirely Johnny's own. "The chips are just recording devices. They'll allow the Defender to see what I saw, and hear what I heard. That's all." Then he changed his stance, his face becoming earnest instead of angry. "It will let him share the experience of my off-world missions--it will be like he has a real body of his own. How is that bad? Tell me," he said, when McKay didn't answer right away. "How is that a bad thing?"

"They'll be chips in your head!" McKay insisted, feeling helpless and angry and strangely--stupidly--jealous. He hadn't been on a mission in years, but he knew Johnny would never have offered this to him. "What if… what if it breaks, or, slips into the wrong place, or something? What if it shorts out and destroys part of your brain?"

Johnny just blinked at him. "Could anything like that ever happen?"

"Well, most likely no," McKay admitted. "But it might!" He gestured almost violently at his son's head. "The point is, you're risking your brain for a computer program! How could you even think that's a good idea?"

" _He's not a program_!" Johnny shouted. "You have no right--!" He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. "Know what?" he said. "Fuck this. And fuck you. I'm not going to stand here and defend my choices. I'm expected in the infirmary, and I've got a briefing for my first mission tomorrow, and I've got better things to do than listen to you spout your usual ignorant and paranoid crap." He shook his head again, this time with obvious disgust. "I'm twenty god-damned years old. You'd think I'd have earned the right for you to respect my decisions by now. Guess not." He shouldered his way around McKay, banging his father with his elbow--McKay was constantly surprised at how tall Johnny was, even after all these years--and stalked out of Weir's office.

McKay was left standing with his hands in helpless fists at his sides, wondering how it had all come crashing down so spectacularly again, and wishing he knew what to say.

***

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sheppard murmured as they backed, smiling and bowing, out of the presence of the Yu-lash Matron.

“As do I,” agreed Teyla, smiling and bowing deeply one more time before slipping out of the trading tent.

McKay made a quick grab to keep the little square blue hat from slipping off of his head. It ended up tilted to one side, the silver tassel bobbing over his left eyebrow. “They do give off used-car-salesman vibes,” he agreed, speaking a bit too loudly while tightening the sash on his ceremonial robes.

“Shut up, McKay,” Sheppard said softly, fondly, while he paused to carefully adjust the hat, straighten the askew robes, and re-tie the sash. “Save it until we’re back home, okay?” He placed his hands firmly on McKay’s shoulders and gave him a meaningful quirk of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, McKay,” Ronon rumbled softly from behind them, looking resplendent and formidable in his own set of formal Yu-lash robes. “Don’t ruin the deal. We need the food.”

“Umm, yummy tubers, Piki fruit, and more Corella bark than I ever wanted to see in my life,” agreed McKay sourly.

“And don’t forget those chicken-lizard things,” said Sheppard, tugging on the lapels of McKay’s robes one last time. The rich blue of the robes and hat made McKay’s eyes look bluer and more vibrant, the smile he flashed at Sheppard more white and brilliant.

“The Sintal birds, and enough grain to feed them until we can grow our own,” said Teyla, nodding thoughtfully. “A _most_ generous offer from the Matron, especially for trading partners the Yu-lash have never dealt with before.”

As they walked back up the hill to the gate, waving, nodding, and smiling broadly at the milling Yu-lash townsfolk, Sheppard pondered why the just-finished deal bothered him so much. They had gotten the Matron’s permission to return through the gate in order to ‘freshen up’ and report back to their _own_ Matron. (How Weir would feel about being addressed as ‘Matron’ was something Sheppard preferred not to think about, but it had certainly seemed to please the Yu-lash Matron that the ‘Lanteans were ruled by a female as well.) Later, they were supposed to return for the dinner-and-speeches portion of the evening, along with the other traders the Yu-lash had cemented deals with today. Sheppard knew that Teyla had mentally noted each of the other groups of traders--a rather small group for what was supposed to be an important traditional trading event--and that she would probably be approaching each group tonight to see what she could arrange in the way of mutually beneficial trade visits.

“Teyla,” he said reluctantly, as they finally stopped near the gate. “It’s just too good a deal, isn’t it? My gut is telling me that something’s wrong.”

“I am afraid this may be so, Colonel,” said Teyla, a frown on her face. “The Yu-lash do not have a reputation for generosity in their dealings. And they think poorly of my people, which was why I was reluctant to approach them previously.”

“Why don’t they like Athosians?” Ronon asked, forehead furrowing.

“They think us…barbaric, and primitive,” said Teyla, with a look of distaste on her face as she fingered the gold embroidery on the rich yellow fabric of her long sleeves. “I am afraid that my presence on your trading party has somewhat disadvantaged you, Colonel Sheppard,” she said apologetically.

“You never mind that, Teyla,” Sheppard consoled her. “You’re _always_ an asset to my team.”

“Hell, yes,” McKay agreed, removing his hat and scrubbing both hands vigorously through his hair. “I prefer your people to these overbearing Yu-lash clowns any day, Teyla.

“What?” he exclaimed, in answer to Sheppard’s look. “The Athosians may have the odd quirk or two, but they never made us dress up in ridiculous costumes just to talk to them!”

Sheppard snorted and grinned, tilting his own jade-green hat to a more rakish angle.

“If you don’t think we should trade with them, Sheppard, maybe we shouldn’t,” said Ronon. The four-cornered hat, in red with gold thread and gold tassels to match the robe, sat like a crown atop Ronon’s dreadlocks, giving his face an imposing level of gravity as he stood there frowning thoughtfully. "Do you want me to question one of them?" he asked, staring at Sheppard meaningfully.

"No!" Sheppard sobered instantly. “It's not like they've done anything to us. And I don't want to make them mad. It’s just that something feels…off.”

“I still say we should have brought a Villana Truthteller,” McKay said, as he walked to the DHD. “The Truthteller would have been able to detect if the Matron was trying to ‘pull a fast one on us.”

“Enough with the air quotes, McKay.” Sheppard ordered, removing his hat and sailing it in McKay’s direction, then grinning as McKay fumbled to catch it. He shook his head regretfully, scrubbing a hand through his hair and down his face. “What would we have said to the Matron? ‘Oh, by the way, we’ve brought along our telepathic truth-detector, in case you’re lying to us’?” He raised his hands to forestall Teyla’s reply. “I know the Villana and PerAn already do something similar all the time, Teyla, it’s just that we have to fit it into the way _we_ do things. And I still want to make sure that any Villana or PerAn that go out with the away teams are trained in the way we do things. If we’re going to depend on them in the field, we need to know how they’ll respond.”

“And how long is that supposed to take, Colonel?” asked McKay truculently, tapping Sheppard’s hat against the DHD keys. “I don’t recall you taking all that long to train me before taking me out to risk life and limb.”

“That was different, Rodney,” Sheppard said, not looking at him.

“You didn’t wait that long with me either, Sheppard,” said Ronon mildly.

“That was different, too,” Sheppard insisted, feeling mulish, but embarrassed about it. “Next time, okay? I’ll start taking them out with us soon. They’ll be ready by next time.”

“Then maybe we should wait,” said Ronon thoughtfully, exchanging a glance with Teyla. “Until a Truthteller can come with us. Maybe we shouldn’t take this deal. You should listen to your gut, Sheppard.”

“I know,” Sheppard acknowledged. “But we can’t wait. It’s been eight months since we lost contact with Earth, Ronon. We’ve given up on resupply from the Daedalus. Even with all the supplies the PerAn and Villana have given us, with so many of them in the city now, we’re still going to run out of food.”

“And with the increased culling from the Wraith, many of the traditional trading partners of my people are simply gone,” said Teyla bleakly. “We have fewer and fewer choices among people with which to trade.”

McKay started to dial the DHD for Atlantis. He looked up, and the lopsided line of his mouth was grim. “In other words, we may not like it, we may _know_ something’s wrong…but we have no choice.” The look in McKay’s eyes was one Sheppard had seen only once before--during the Siege of Atlantis by the Wraith.

***

"When were you going to tell me, McKay?" Sheppard tried to keep his voice light, not accusing. "I'll need time to program a tux for this thing if I'm going to be ready for the big event." He waved down at his own uniform-covered image.

McKay didn't startle, or even look up from his computer screen. "Ah, yes. I was wondering who was going to get around to telling you. If it was Radek, you can inform him that Carson will be taking over his position as Best Man."

"No, Radek's position is safe." Sheppard was glad that his synthetic voice couldn't sound as choked as his natural voice would have. "Elizabeth told me, in case it had 'slipped your mind' to invite me."

"Right. Of course, the Tal, meddling in my personal affairs as usual." McKay waved a negligent hand, still not looking up from his screen. "Yes, Defender, you are officially invited. I'll send you a formal e-mail if you like. Now, if you don't mind…"

"So," Sheppard continued, voice falsely jovial. "What's your name going to be now? Rodney McKay-Yana? Rodney Astal?"

McKay sighed, and his shoulders slumped forward. Finally he turned and faced Sheppard. "You're not my buddy, Defender. You’re not my pal. _You’re not my friend_. I don't have to have these kinds of conversations with you. I don't even have these conversations with Carson or Radek, who have some kind of claim to that position."

The lights in the lab came up a shade brighter, then dimmed. "I deserved to know. I deserved to hear it from you, not from the Tal," Sheppard said stiffly.

"Well, you _would_ , if you were actually John Sheppard," said McKay, with a touch of heat, obviously restraining himself savagely. "But in reality, my lover, John, died seven years ago. It's time I moved on, Defender. I deserve not to be alone all my life. John would have wanted me to have some chance of happiness again."

"And can you honestly say you love this woman?" Sheppard longed, more fiercely than he had in a long while, to be physical once again, just so that he could smash something.

"No," McKay said, averting his eye. "I've had the love of my life. I know it. But he's gone now. Cara Yana Astal is a good person. We get along. We're…we're friends. She knows it's not love, but this isn't about love for her, either. The Villana are much more prosaic and unromantic about these things than we tend to be. Marriage and procreation are seldom about love, for them. Cara thinks my genes would be a good contribution to the Yana clan." McKay lifted his chin and waved a hand with forced joviality. "At last, a woman who wants me for my brain!"

"And what do you get out of this, McKay?" Sheppard asked, willing McKay to look, to acknowledge him and the pain he was going through at this news. Sheppard hadn't thought there could be more to give up than what he already had, but this Defender gig looked to be one long unending sacrifice after another.

"I get not to be so goddamned _alone_ anymore," McKay whispered.

"It doesn't hurt that she looks a little like me, does it?" Sheppard said.

McKay turned around in a violent motion to face his computer again, clenching his fists on either side of the keyboard. "I would appreciate it if you would go now, Defender. I'm very busy. This work is quite important."

"I'm alone too, Rodney," Sheppard said softly. "And I'm here. Right here." He faded his hologram from the room, but watched, invisible, undetectable, for a long time. He watched until McKay's shoulders eventually straightened determinedly and he began to type again.

***

"Is this a bad time, Papa?" Johnny sounded uncharacteristically hesitant as he poked his head in Rodney's office door.

"Well, yes, you know it's _always_ a bad time. But, on the other hand, I always want to see my own flesh and blood." McKay pushed his chair back and folded his arms over his chest. "I suppose we'll all have to live with the paradox. Come in! What are you still doing out in the hall? You're wasting the precious time we've both agreed I don't have to waste!"

Johnny scowled at him, all traces of his earlier uncertainty magically evaporated. "Can you get rid of the attitude for just five minutes, Papa? I need to talk to you about something important."

McKay crossed his legs as well, tilted his chair back expressively, nodded and said, "Shoot."

Johnny came the rest of the way into the room, followed by Will Lorne, Nick Lorne's eldest son. This was not an unusual occurrence, since Will had been Johnny's constant shadow ever since the younger boy could toddle. "Hi, Uncle Rodney." Will ducked his head and gave McKay an abbreviated wave, unusually shy as well.

McKay frowned, beginning to worry. Will had always been an affectionate child, moreso than Johnny, whose temperament was more independent. McKay had gotten used to Will greeting him with a hug if they hadn't seen each other for longer than a day or so. Now that they were both young men, Johnny seemed to hoard his affectionate gestures for special occasions, but Will--he never seemed to feel the need to ‘outgrow’ the hugs and pats and kisses that he generously bestowed on his friends and family. It sent up McKay's alarm bells not to get his expected hug from Will.

"What's wrong?" McKay demanded, standing up. "Come on, Johnny, Will, out with it."

Johnny tilted his chin up defiantly, as Will closed the door behind them with his mind. Pressure on the natural gene carriers to breed, as well as Beckett's discovery that administering the gene therapy _in utero_ dramatically improved the chances of success, meant that a preponderance of Atlantis' younger generation could pull off the ATA mind tricks that John Sheppard had once long ago used to gain a foothold into McKay's heart.

They all waited a beat in silence. Then, since Johnny had seemingly lost his nerve, or at least his voice, Will cleared his throat and addressed McKay. "Um, Uncle Rodney, Johnny and I had something important we wanted to share with you. Um. Eh--"

"Will and I are _together_ , Papa," Johnny said firmly, taking Will's hand in his own, his eyes daring his father to say something sarcastic or mean.

"Oh, thank God!" McKay slumped back against his desk in relief. "I thought it was something awful!"

After several moments, while the younger men stared at him, McKay sighed and said, "Welcome to the family, Will. Though, it's not like you haven't been underfoot all your life anyway." He waited impatiently, then flung his arms open. "Well? Do I get my hug _now_?"

Will grinned brilliantly and crushed the air out of McKay's lungs with the strength of his bear hug. McKay awkwardly but sincerely patted his back and ruffled his curly blond hair. When Will stepped back, McKay arched an eyebrow at his son, who hugged his father a lot more awkwardly than his lover had.

Johnny leaned back and scratched his head. "Well. That went a whole lot better than I thought it would."

McKay looked over at Will. "Should I be offended? How _much_ should I be offended?"

Will chuckled and lowered his eyes, darting a look at Johnny.

Johnny grimaced and slouched back against the wall. "Aw, Papa. I just--We just expected some sort of lecture about my duty to the Yana and the need to reproduce to keep the genes of the Ancestors in our gene pool or something like that."

"Ah.” McKay nodded, folding his arms again. "In other words, I was supposed to be some kind of prude or something. Give you something to rebel against. Huh." He looked down and tapped his foot.

"Well, this was anticlimactic, wasn't it?" McKay said in a very dry voice. Johnny snorted. Will shuffled his feet and twisted his mouth in a battle against grinning again.

"Have you told your mother yet? You might get a smidgen more drama from her," McKay offered. "At least, she'll give you the dreaded lecture about your duty to your clan--I think you may have had us confused for that one, Johnny. I couldn't care less about your duty to the Yana. Though if you tell your mother I said that, I will officially disown you."

"Yeah, right." His son tossed his head in derision, utterly secure of his place in his father's devotion.

McKay addressed his son's friend. "I thought you were an expert on all the squishy-science Anthropology stuff. Can't you apply it to our own situation? Yeah, the Villana are all about duty to the clan, and you're both going to have to face up to the fact that the Yana are going to want _him_ ," he jerked a thumb at his son, "to reproduce. But that doesn't mean that they give a shit about who, or what gender, his lover is. You _know_ that the Villana, and the PerAn as well, for pity's sake, totally separate love and sex from marriage and procreation. It's the Tau'ri and Athosians who have issues about sexual fidelity in marriage."

Will flushed a dark, brick red. He shifted into a parade rest posture and tucked his hands behind his back. In that stance, Will's stocky, muscular body told anyone who cared to look that he was Nick Lorne's son. And his curly blond hair and fair coloring advertised his PerAn mother, Palika, as well. But his face--the brows, the shape of the mouth, the _eyes_ \--were easily recognizable to anyone who got to look at Tal Weir's face as often as Rodney McKay did.

It was never spoken of in public, but it had never been an issue, either. The Lorne family was part of the Tal's Household. The Tal's consort was _officially_ Radek Zelenka, but the Tal could have anyone in her bed whom she wanted, and no one would say a word. That she had never been pregnant, never borne a child herself--her sacrifice to the demands of the position--yet there were several children among her Household with her looks, her personality, her way of moving, was simply a function of Atlantis' advanced medical technology and the fact that one of Elizabeth Weir's best friends was a gifted geneticist. McKay had always privately wondered why Palika had agreed to carry a child who was not entirely Lorne’s and her own. Maybe the honor of giving the Tal progeny was reason enough.

Johnny bristled. "Papa, just one--"

McKay huffed and held up his hand in a stop signal. "Wait. I didn't mean… It wasn't _criticism_ , or any kind of insult." He glared at Johnny. "You _know_ I'm terrible at this 'supportive' crap. I'm just trying to say that nobody will _care_ , much less give you a hard time. Believe me, if some idiot so much as _looks_ at you funny…"

"We don't want… We wouldn't want special treatment or favoritism, Uncle Rodney," Will said earnestly.

"Hmph. Too late, as far as I'm concerned." McKay gripped the boy's shoulder roughly and pressed foreheads with him, like the Athosians did. He didn't say what he knew to be true: that both young men had known favoritism and special treatment all their lives. They were just unaware of it, because along with the special treatment came a big load of additional expectations and burdens, for being part of the Tal's Household, part of the Yana clan, in effect being part of the ruling families of Atlantis. McKay bumped foreheads with his own son, and brushed his hair back so he could deliver a swift, rare kiss to that forehead as well. It was an occasion, after all.

"Well, I guess we'll let you get back to what you were doing." Johnny shuffled his feet this time, both young men back to feeling shy.

McKay waved a hand at them. "Yes, yes, fine. Be on your way, let me get back to this extremely vital work that you've interrupted."

As they began to shamble out, McKay raised his voice. "Johnny."

"Yes, Papa?"

"I'm assuming you're going to go find your mother and Will's parents to tell them as well?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Tell your mother that if she wants us to all get together for dinner tonight, that I'll make sure I'm free to be there. _You'd_ both better be there too, especially if she starts feeling all clannish on you."

"Ancestors preserve me! D'you think she'll want to invite Shil Yana and the Tal and everyone?"

"She might. You know your mother. You'd better prepare yourselves, just in case."

"By Ascension!” Johnny moaned.

"I'd watch that language if you're going to be speaking with your mother anytime soon," McKay advised dryly.

Both young men waved wordlessly to him as they took off down the corridor. McKay slowly sat down at his desk again, but didn't go back to work right away. He drummed the surface of his desk with his fingers, restlessly. After a few moments, he sighed. "You can show yourself," he spoke to the air.

The hologram of the Defender appeared next to his desk, his arms crossed as he appeared to slouch carelessly against the wall. "Well, that went fairly well."

"Thanks for warning me," McKay acknowledged. "Although they were acting so strangely, I thought there was something else going on too."

"Nah. They were just expecting a little parental commotion, is all." The Defender grinned.

"Well, they can get that from Cara. She's been bored lately. She could use some excitement," said McKay, staring at his hands. He looked up at the Defender. "You didn't warn her as well, did you?"

"No. Do you want me to?"

"No. Like I said, let her have something exciting happen to her today. She doesn't get in as much 'saving Atlantis' action as I do." McKay smiled deprecatingly. "You might want to warn Lorne, though. He gets plenty of excitement already."

"Yeah. I already told Nick and Palika. And Elizabeth," added the Defender.

"Hmph. The kids are going to be disappointed that their big news doesn't make more of a splash." McKay shook his head, smiling. The Defender returned his smile with a sly one of his own.

McKay looked down at his hands again. "Well, thanks again," he said awkwardly.

The Defender took the hint, taking his leave before one of them said something stupid and hurtful again. As usual.

"So long, Rodney." And he winked out of sight.

***

"Okay," McKay said, almost as breathless as if he'd been running, "you know what you have to do, right?"

"Yes, Rodney," Sheppard said. His voice was a lot more gentle than it could have been, considering he had answered the same question at least three times, but he'd been watching McKay's slow, jittery unraveling since they'd discovered Sora's tracking device, and he wasn't willing to deny McKay what little reassurance he could give.

Sheppard rubbed the skin next to his eye. He was already exhausted, but he wouldn’t be able to rest for at least three more days, provided they could actually keep the Wraith from taking the city for that long.

And McKay had assured everyone the Wraith would arrive in less than ten minutes. Sheppard could practically feel them gliding into orbit around Atlantis, stately and unhurried as predators in water. He shivered, even though he was still in his jacket and the control tower wasn't cold.

McKay just looked at him. "Well?"

Sheppard sighed. "I have to keep track of the weakening areas of the shield and reinforce them by transferring more power to those parts of the shield." He still had only the vaguest idea of how he would do that, though McKay had assured him it would work for him the way the jumpers did, the way everything in Atlantis did for him. _Just tell it what you want it to do and it'll do it, like showing a picture of the solar system_.

"Good," McKay said, nodding briskly. "That's good. Because it's not like the entire city isn't depending on us being able to keep this up for three days straight, or anything. So… That's good." He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, looking like Sheppard felt. McKay's job would involve juggling the power consumption levels all over the rest of Atlantis, creating brownouts when and where necessary to keep as much of the ZPM's power as possible available for the shield, without sacrificing things like life support or the infirmary, where Aren Lev Nent and his group of telepathic Villana were preparing themselves to put the Wraith into hibernation, or Beckett's lab, where Beckett and his team were trying to create the gene therapy that would make the plan work.

Beckett had said he would need at least four days. McKay was pretty certain this could maybe give him three.

Sheppard made himself smile for McKay, wide and lazy and like they had nothing in the world to worry about. "I hope you brought coffee."

"Oh, God," McKay sighed. "Coffee." They hadn't had any supplies from Earth in eight months. He looked at Sheppard sympathetically. "You wouldn't be able to drink it anyway."

"True," Sheppard said. "Not that you would, either." McKay had cabled his laptop up to the command chair; he'd have to keep his eyes on it the whole time.

McKay quirked an eyebrow at him. "You underestimate my abilities at multitasking."

Sheppard smirked, and half of McKay's mouth curved in a smile, but a second later it slid away.

"I don't know if this is going to work," McKay said.

"It will," Sheppard said. It had to.

"Yeah, but if it doesn't--"

"McKay!"

"No!" McKay said forcefully. "Shut up and listen!"

Sheppard dutifully kept his mouth shut, watching McKay a little warily. He resisted the urge to look at his watch--McKay knew how much time they had left, better than he did.

"Look." McKay took a breath. He was doing that thing where the fingers of his right hand ran back and forth over his thumb. "If we don't make it, I want…" Another breath. "You should know that you, you're…" McKay scowled. "I'm not good at this, okay?" he said in response to Sheppard's mild look. "But, I want you to know that, that meeting you was like getting to go to Atlantis, all over again."

Sheppard swallowed. "Come here," he said, and McKay did, leaning forward until their lips could meet, until they were kissing each other like it might be the last time--which it _wasn't_ \--with Sheppard's hands on either side of McKay's head, and McKay's fists bunched around the cloth of Sheppard's jacket on his shoulders.

McKay pulled back first, but he leaned his forehead against Sheppard's. "I really, really wish we had more time."

"Me too," Sheppard said, a little thickly, as McKay moved back. "Rodney?"

McKay looked at him, his eyes enormous.

"Rodney, I--"

"The Wraith have started their attack," came Weir's voice through both their ear comms.

***

McKay's birthday party was over before it even began. Even before the jumper bearing McKay and Jinto from the Mainland settled into the jumper bay, McKay was at the back hatch waiting impatiently. The hatch popped open the instant the jumper was stable, even while the Defender was performing the post-flight checks. McKay bolted out as soon as it opened, not waiting for Jinto or for the Defender, who could certainly multi-task, as was proven when McKay barged into Weir’s office and found the hologram already poised by her desk.

The Defender's hologram had probably been there all along, even as he had also used it to play at piloting the jumper and keep McKay updated on the current news. Ordinarily, the Defender preferred to have the hologram appear only in one location at a time--one of the little illusions of humanity he was so fond of--but when there was an emergency, the Defender abandoned any pretensions in favor of efficiency.

“Elizabeth, I’m going on the SAR team,” McKay announced peremptorily.

“Yes, Rodney, I know.” Weir peered up at him with cataract-filmed eyes. She still hadn’t gotten the surgery, although Mary Beckett had frequently assured her that it would work quite well, just like on Earth, and would allow her to see clearly again. “John just told me.” Weir nodded to the Defender. “As long as you get the medical okay from Doctor Beckett, I’m inclined to approve your participation in the mission.”

“Oh.” Prepared for an argument, McKay felt himself deflate visibly. “All right then. I’ll just go,” he motioned behind himself. “Get checked out and geared up.”

“Fifteen minutes, Rodney,” said the Defender soberly. “Then the team goes, with or without you. Be in the gate room.”

“Right!” McKay tossed over his shoulder as he hurried to the nearest transporter.

~~~

“Papa, I just heard.” Johnny barged into the exam room in the infirmary, already wearing his off-world gear, including McKay’s old jacket, tailored to fit his longer arms and torso. “You can’t--“

“Of course I can,” said McKay in irritation, looking up from his battle of wills with Mary Beckett-Cadman, ‘Doc Beckett’ to most of Atlantis.

“I don’t know, Uncle Rodney.” Mary carefully put away the Ancient medical scanner. “Your hypertension’s a wee bit worse--the blood pressure is higher than I like it. Have you been taking your medication?” Her faint Scottish burr was purely affectation, because most of her dad’s old patients found it reassuring. McKay found it annoying.

“Yes, yes,” he assured her, scowling. “I drink that damned hideously vile tea every morning and every night. It’s just the excitement that’s got my blood pressure up, you quack. Ancestors! There are times I really miss your addle-pated father, and this is one of them.”

“Aye, because my Da would let you get away with things more than I do, Uncle Rodney.” Mary nodded knowingly before her gaze went wistful. “Though, to tell the truth, you can’t miss Da or Mum more than I do, every day.”

“I’m sorry, Mary.” McKay patted her arm awkwardly. “Your dad wasn’t _really_ all that addle-pated. Despite his propensity for tinkering in my genetic structure, I do miss him. _Not_ your crazy mother, though,” he continued darkly, in the face of Mary’s smile and quick hug.

“Very well, Uncle Rodney. You’ve talked me into it. On your own head be the consequences, which you well know. Off you go, adventuring again,” Mary told him, touching foreheads with him. “Johnny, you watch out for your old Da,” she admonished his son.

“I wish you wouldn’t come, Papa,” Johnny fretted, nevertheless helping McKay on with the gear he’d brought with him. “You haven’t been off-world in years. I don’t want to be worrying about you too.”

“Leave the worrying to me, Kiddo,” McKay assured him. “You’ll be grateful for my grasp of alien technology once we’re off-world.” He paused in the hallway and cupped the back of his son’s head, bringing their foreheads together, then brushing Johnny’s thick dark hair aside so he could deliver a kiss to his brow.

There had never been a chance to save his own lover; McKay would be damned if he passed up a chance to help save his son’s.

“But--“

“ _Not_ another word!” McKay raised a finger imperiously. “We don’t leave people behind. Let’s go! There’s no time.” McKay smiled to discover he could still keep up with his son’s swift strides down the corridors of Atlantis.

~~~

It turned out that Will was trapped in hideously complex-looking machine of unknown origin, which was lodged in a large stone-and-plaster structure.

“Well, it’s not Ancient,” McKay said, frowning as he dusted himself off after crawling around underneath the opening of the structure.

“That was _so brilliant_ , Uncle Rodney! I’m just astounded by your contributions to our efforts. What would we do without your insights?”

McKay ignored the biting sarcasm from Pol Eliska, officially one of Pol Osri’s middle daughters. Unofficially, Elizabeth Weir and Radek Zelenka’s eldest child. Eliska was his own protégé, head of the Atlantis Science Division. She was a bit high-strung, but he didn’t necessarily consider that a fault in a scientist, especially for one who went off-world. Pegasus ate young scientists in the field right up if they didn’t have a touch of edginess about them.

“What does it say?” McKay queried his son, who was deep into the translation of the writings on the wall.

“I think this is 12th Cycle Old Genii Hegemony writing, Papa. The style is about right.”

“Yes, fine, wonderful. And what does it _say_?” McKay waved an arm in an encouraging gesture. Johnny shook his head, intent on the words.

McKay turned to Eliska. “This thing looks pretty airtight. Assuming there’s no ventilation, how long do we have before Will suffocates?” he asked as if he was challenging her abilities, when in reality it was he who could no longer do the math easily in his head. The strokes he’d suffered in recent years had been tiny, insignificant in the scheme of such things, relatively harmless compared to what damage they _might_ have wrought. He could still walk, and talk, and interact normally with others. But his memory wasn’t utterly reliable anymore, and reading for longer than short periods gave him blinding headaches. And he no longer had the facility with math he had always taken for granted. Many such routine humiliations proved that his mind was not the sharp, bright tool he had once arrogantly relied on.

Eliska frowned. “A rough calculation of the cubic volume of air that may be available, based on the size of the building--and taking into account that the area Will is occupying may not include the entire structure--I can estimate that Will has--“

“Approximately. Because you always round off your numbers,” McKay accused.

“Will has _approximately_ ,” Eliska bit off the word, “two hours of breathable air available.”

“I’m translating as fast as I can, here,” Johnny said tightly, scribbling into his notebook. McKay bit his tongue on further comment, and a swift, cutting glance stopped Eliska’s tongue as well.

“I know you will find us the answer, Johnny,” Leda Dex, Ronon and Shah’s eldest daughter, and Johnny and Will’s old playmate, encouraged him. She really was a great team leader. Ronon had trained her magnificently and she had inherited her mother’s charm.

“How did he get in there in the first place?” Nick Lorne had to lean on a cane and had gained a little weight since the injury that had made his left leg really undependable almost two decades ago. He probably shouldn’t have been allowed to go off-world at all, but Elizabeth Weir would not have had the heart to stop him from going out after their son. Both the young PerAn soldiers flanking him had probably been given strict instructions from the Tal about getting Lorne back to Atlantis in one piece.

“The machine was a trap,” offered Gralle, Jinto’s eldest son. He strongly resembled his grandfather, Halling, although he looked impossibly young. “Will was speaking to a young village girl, attempting to convince her to relate the local stories of this machine, when he stepped on something and activated the trap. It just drew him up inside, like pulling water through a straw.”

“Then we need to interrogate that girl! Aldyr, Pent, go down to the village and--"

“No, Uncle Nick!” said Leda, and such was her charisma that both the young soldiers halted in their tracks to await developments. “The girl was as surprised and frightened as we were by the machine. We have already spoken to her and her family and recorded everything.” Leda hefted the recorder in illustration. “I believe Gralle meant that the machine _itself_ was designed as a trap. But it was built many cycles ago. Neither the girl nor her village meant harm to any of us.”

Gralle nodded quickly in agreement.

Lorne sighed, but nodded his acceptance of Leda’s assessment of the situation.

McKay gazed at Leda appraisingly. Many of the older generation were either quite old, or already dead. Like Leda’s father, Ronon, ten years gone, shortly followed by Shahyaan, as if she couldn’t bear to be parted from her husband yet again. Like Eliska’s father, Radek, Ancestors rest his soul. Or Will’s PerAn mother, Palika. Or the Cadman-Becketts--both of them dead of the same nasty illness that had taken his own Cara. Of all the offspring of this dying generation of Atlantis’ leaders, Leda was the most promising candidate for the next Tal. Elizabeth Weir wouldn’t last forever and, despite her hopes, none of her own children--and, borne by other women or not, unofficial or not, Weir definitely considered them her own children--showed the real spark, the temperament or ability that would allow them to take on the leadership of all Atlantis. No matter how Weir groomed them, none of her own children fit the bill. And the office of Tal was never a hereditary position, anyway. McKay had long ago realized that Johnny didn’t even have the disposition to lead the Science Division, although he had made head of the Linguistics Department. Leda, however, Ronon’s daughter, had the spark to become Tal someday. And the Defender doted on her, which would count for a lot, in Atlantis.

“Got it!” Johnny’s announcement derailed McKay’s train of thought. Johnny jumped down off the stone he had been using as a step stool, brandishing his notebook. “I don’t know if it will do any good,” he warned, as everyone crowded around the pages.

“ _Dej mi pokoj_ , get back!” Eliska snarled. “Tourists later, people who might possibly be able to _use_ the information constructively, first!” Everyone obediently backed off except McKay. Eliska didn’t quite dare to dismiss him, but she held the notebook tightly and tried to crowd him out with her body language. McKay didn’t intimidate that easily. Besides, he outweighed Eliska by a good fifteen kilograms or more.

“Hmm. What do you think of that?” McKay pointed out a section of the text to Eliska, where the builders had boasted of 'the power of the Old Ones'.

Eliska cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head up and shoving her glasses up on her nose in order to see him better. “You think they talk about a ZPM,” she accused.

“Well, they might well be. And if it is one, we can disengage it,” McKay answered reasonably.

“ _Sakra_ , Uncle Rodney, you see ZPMs around every corner, behind every _tree_! You have an Ancestors-cursed ZPM _fetish_!” Eliska’s voice rose in an unattractive shriek. McKay scowled. There was such a thing as being _too_ highly strung.

“I doubt it goes that far,” Lorne contributed, voice very dry. “More like a strong infatuation.”

“Not. Helping!” McKay sing-songed, his own voice a trifle sharp.

“Why not proceed on the assumption that it may be powered by a ZPM, Uncle Rodney?” soothed Leda. “You can look for it while Eliska develops her own avenue of investigation. That way we can move forward most efficiently.”

“Very well,” assented Eliska grudgingly.

McKay huffed, looking around for his scanner.

“Here, Sir,” said Gralle, handing it to him.

“Thanks.” McKay patted his arm as if he were a large, friendly dog.

He began to scan the structure the machine was housed in, walking around it. “Be careful, Papa,” Johnny warned fretfully. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t step on anything near the machine. I don’t want anything to happen to you too.”

“Don’t teach your old man to suck eggs, Kiddo,” said McKay absently, studying the readings.

Several minutes later, he stopped and waved Johnny over. “Read that for me.” McKay pointed at some small writing on a panel on the side of the structure. “I think the ZPM is in there. There’s a distinctive energy signature.”

“Don’t you think you’d better consult with Eliska, Papa?” asked Johnny, darting a glance towards the front of the machine, where Eliska and several of her minions were involved in building…something.

“Yes, of course. I’ll let her know before I pull the power source.” McKay jerked his chin in his old student’s direction. “But if you want to disturb her right now, while she’s in the middle of building her magic can opener…”

“Papa! Do you always have to be so insulting?”

“Kiddo, I _trained_ the woman.” McKay snorted. “There’s nothing I can say that should surprise her.”

“ _Ticho_! Useless old man, always looking for something to plug in, or unplug,” came Eliska’s sharp comment as she forced a wrench to do double-duty as a temporary hammer.

“Acid-tongued harpy! Always with the overcomplicated solutions,” fired McKay right back.

Johnny snapped his fingers to get his father’s attention. “It says, ‘Open with care. Power center may…mmm…this could mean ‘fire’ or ‘explode’ or…hmmm… ‘spark’? One of those.”

“Okay,” McKay agreed, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. “I can work with that.”

He trudged back towards Eliska and her assistants. “Oh Great Scientist, are you ready yet? I can unplug the thing at any time.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder.

Eliska grunted as she slotted another component into her contraption. “Good. Knew you’d find it. Here’s the plan. We trigger the trap again, insert this mechanism in there to simultaneously hold it open and jam up the works, then you pull the ZPM, the moment I say.” She looked up to meet McKay’s gaze, her own eyes glittering with challenge behind the lenses of her glasses. “Can you do that, old man?”

McKay grinned at his favorite student. “Sure, no problem. It’ll be as easy as changing your diaper was. Wait a minute, by tremendous coincidence, I’ve done that too--you little witch.” 

“How does any of this get Will out?” asked Lorne mildly, interrupting the insult-athon.

“Well.” Eliska’s brows drew together. “With this mechanism holding the intake system open, Will _should_ be able to crawl out the way he got in, especially once the Master over there unplugs the power source.”

“That assumes that Will is conscious,” Leda amended. “He may be injured. We have not been able to raise him on our communicators all this time.”

“I imagine that the machine there is blocking our communications,” Eliska told her soberly. “Once Uncle Rodney pulls the ZPM, we should be able to raise him.”

Leda peered at the mechanism that Eliska’s flunkies were finishing. “If Will does not respond, can I use your device to go inside the trap after him?”

Eliska shrugged. “The purpose of the device is to force an opening to allow Will to get out. However, you should be able to get in as well.”

“But, Leda,” Johnny objected. “I don't want you to get stuck in that thing too!”

“I have confidence that you would all be able to get me out again, Johnny.” Leda patted his back. “In the meantime, I might be able to take care of Will if he's hurt, or at least keep him company and make sure he is not all alone in there.”

“Then let me go,” said Johnny.

Leda shook her head. “You may be needed out here, to translate something else. If it appears that there is something important to translate inside, I will signal and you can come in also.”

Johnny nodded reluctantly.

The plan went off smoothly, as far as these things went. On Eliska’s signal, McKay pulled the ZPM out of its mounting in the side of the structure, and handed it off to Gralle to store in a padded pouch. Atlantis could always use another ZPM. The only hitch was a bit of an electrical shock as he closed up the access hatch. “OW! Damnit!” McKay shook his hand.

But his complaint was swallowed in the general uproar as they all heard Will’s voice over their communicators. “Uncle Rodney? Is that you? What are you doing off-world?”

“Is that any way to greet your rescuers, you ungrateful kid?” Lorne bellowed at his son.

“Dad? Dad! What are you doing out here! You _definitely_ shouldn’t be off-world. Leda! Why did you let my Dad and Uncle Rodney haul their asses out here? By Ascension! I get stuck in one lousy contraption and everybody panics!” Will’s annoyed voice continued to berate and complain as he obviously worked his way out of the trap using Eliska’s device.

McKay felt a grin take over his whole face, as he started towards the front of the structure so that he could see Will emerge. The dizziness caught him unprepared, and he flailed and grabbed at Gralle’s arm to stay upright. As the young man put an arm around him in concern, McKay felt himself sag as the mother of all headaches hit him right between the eyes. The world tilted alarmingly, McKay’s stomach felt really, really sick, as if he would puke any moment, and his vision grayed out.

***

“Hang on!”

McKay hung grimly to his seat as Sheppard put the puddle jumper through another move worthy of _Top Gun_ or, possibly, _Star Wars_. McKay didn’t want to know what those moves would have felt like without the inertial dampeners.

Behind them, in the rear compartment, the PerAn enforcer, Cal Pinurst, was weeping brokenly and gasping, “My babies, my babies!” over and over. The surviving members of his troop tried to comfort him, although most of them seemed to be in shock. Two thirds of the troop, as well as Pinurst’s children, had been swept up in the culling beams.

McKay sat next to Sheppard, in Teyla's usual seat. The Commander of the enforcers sat next to Teyla, behind McKay, in Ronon’s usual seat. He was quietly introducing himself to Teyla. “I am called Pol Osri, by my honor Chief Enforcer for the Office of the Calendor in Hamachtown.”

Teyla was still in a bit of shock herself, because it took her a few moments to reply. “I--I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of…”

Sheppard shoved a drone right up the tail of the dart he was following, before pulling up straight at almost a ninety degree angle to escape the resulting explosion.

“Dammit, Sheppard, you want to force them down, not blow the darts into itty bitty pieces!” McKay admonished him. “If we can get to the interface that stores their cargo, we may be able to extract Ronon. Just like Zelenka extracted me.”

“That didn’t turn out so well,” Sheppard said grimly, finding another dart to follow.

“Well, I grant you, not at first,” McKay said. “There was that whole Cadman issue, which I would very much love to forget, by the way. But we resolved that. And Zelenka’s been working on the system on and off in his spare time to improve our technique for…ah…downloading the ‘passengers’.”

“Did you just do air quotes again? Rodney, you know I hate it when you do air quotes,” Sheppard complained. The jumper zigged, then zagged again, following as the dart went close to the tree line. “I’d prefer to get him back,” Sheppard said more quietly. “But either way, he won’t end up on a Hive ship. I promised Ronon I would never let the Wraith have him again.”

The jumper cut suddenly and violently to the left to avoid something swift and bright. Sheppard swore. “What the hell was that?”

McKay had already accessed the jumper’s sensor array. “It couldn’t be! Colonel, that’s another drone. But this is the only puddle jumper on the planet!”

“It might be cloaked, like we are,” Sheppard said. “Pol Osri,” he asked, his eyes never leaving the jumper's screen. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

~~~

“No, we can’t bring them back to Atlantis with us!” McKay argued with Zelenka over his comm through the open wormhole. “I _don’t care_! You’re going off-world whether you like it or not. No. No, Elizabeth, don’t let him wriggle out of it. I’ll tell you--For God’s sake! Ronon’s in one of those darts we just shot down. Radek, you have 15 minutes to get your gear and some flunkies together and get yourself over here before I let Colonel Sheppard loose. And believe me, he’ll just go _get_ you and drag you here by the scruff of your scrawny little _neck_. No, no, I am not threatening you. If I was threatening you, I’d be sending _Teyla_ after you. Ah-HA! Thought you’d see it my way. What? Yes, yes, okay then. Twenty minutes, tops. Yes. Fine. Elizabeth? Yes, _of course_ you’re sending a military escort. Did you want to speak to Sheppard? Okay. Yes, right, we will. McKay out.”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, turning to Sheppard. The Colonel made a show of flexing the muscles in his arms and waggling his eyebrows. “I’ve never been somebody’s thug before. Thanks, McKay!”

McKay rolled his eyes. “Oh, please! I wasn’t threatening, I was predicting. _She_ was the threat,” he indicated Teyla, who curved an amused eyebrow his way. “And I didn’t even have to really use her.” McKay smiled a self-satisfied little smile.

“Does this mean your expert will be coming to extract our people from the Wraith vehicles?” asked Danl Talene, head of the Talene clan, of the Villana people--who were somehow distinctly different people from the PerAn the team had met first, but who still seemed to consider the PerAn ‘their’ people.

Sheppard turned to the--well, he couldn’t rightly tell if Danl Talene was a man or a woman. The Villana was tall, dark-haired, of slim build, and rather androgynous-looking, with a face both feminine and masculine by turns. Talene also wore loose, shapeless clothing that disguised any clues his or her body may have provided. Sheppard was stumped as to whether to address this person as 'sir' or 'ma’am' or whether it was polite to enquire. He settled on the neutral. “Yes, Talene, our people will be coming soon with the equipment we need to extract individuals from the darts. We call them ‘darts’ because they look like--”

“We’ve done this before, Talene,” McKay assured the Villana.

“Successfully?” Talene questioned.

“Yes. Well, mostly. It depends, frankly, on how much power is available from the dart, or if we otherwise have compatible power sources. We’ve been working on improving our process,” explained McKay. “And, since we have several darts available, I’m confident we should have a very good success rate.”

“But not certain,” said the Villana wryly.

“There are no certainties, Talene,” interjected Teyla smoothly. “But Doctor McKay has often been able to achieve miraculous results with much less.”

“The Ancestors grant you are correct,” said Talene gravely. S/he turned to Pol Osri, hovering at Talene's side. “You take a great risk, Osri, revealing us to these strangers.”

Osri nodded grimly. “And my punishment, should I be wrong, will be severe. But they were already fighting on our behalf, Speaker. I could not allow them to endanger themselves through ignorance.”

Talene made a complex hand gesture. “I accept your reasoning.” Abruptly, s/he turned and left, to join a small group of other Villana standing at the forest’s edge, near one of the downed darts. They were all vaguely androgynous, though some were tall and some short, some slim and some heavyset. A few were impossibly _more_ androgynous than the others. Sheppard shook his head.

Right. Back to work. The last few of Pol Osri’s men jogged up and saluted their leader. After they reported and stepped away, Sheppard went over to the PerAn commander. “Well, did they find any more darts, Osri?”

“Just one, Sheppard. You disposed of three, if I recall correctly, and the Tower disposed of four others.” Osri scratched his neck. “My men have only found six vehicles on the ground, but you destroyed at least one so thoroughly that all I think we may find of it is parts scattered throughout the woods.”

Sheppard shrugged, striving to appear unconcerned. He peered up to see the Villana Tower peeking, ghostlike, above the trees. Another world with a hidden city--with a central tower, eerily reminiscent of Atlantis’ control tower. Only this one had a working cloak in addition to working drones. And people who seemed to know how to properly use the technology, as well as having the ability to do so.

~~~

“Out of the way, please. Yes, you. Thank you. We are ready, McKay,” Zelenka said tensely, once more scanning the sky as if expecting the Wraith to arrive with more darts any moment. It wasn’t necessarily an unreasonable expectation. Somewhere a Hive ship had sent out seven darts, and not one had returned back through the gate. Somewhere, perhaps, a Hive Queen was deciding whether to write those darts off or to send a follow-up team to determine what had happened to them.

McKay double-checked Zelenka’s instruments for him and nodded. “Go ahead, Radek. It’s your show.”

Zelenka took a deep breath and activated the equipment. The culling beam flashed out into the clearing and five men from the enforcer troop appeared. Three promptly fell over and two staggered around, swaying. With a cheer, their fellow Enforcers dashed over to help the men to their feet.

“This is truly wonderful!” exclaimed the Villana who had introduced herself as Shil Yana to McKay. McKay didn’t have Sheppard’s reticence, or perhaps it was tact--whatever it was, he didn’t have it. He’d flat out asked the Villana what gender she pertained to.

She had blinked at him in confusion. “We have just met, Doctor McKay. At this time, I do not wish to pursue a sexual relationship with you.”

McKay shuddered. “Believe me, neither do I. It’s just that…” He made a vague gesture with one hand. “Gender is important to us, socially. We prefer to know the gender of the person we’re speaking to.”

Shil tilted her head at him. “You will treat me differently depending on whether I am male or female?”

“Not necessarily.” McKay shook his head and made another gesture, more impatient. “Come on! Just indulge me, already!”

And with a mysterious smile, she had.

~~~

The third dart they tried produced Pinurst’s children. Both Pinurst and his wife, one of the Villana (so perhaps she might have been Pinurst’s husband, though Sheppard thought probably not), dashed over, weeping, and swept the children into their arms.

Shil Yana approached Zelenka where he was crouched over his instruments and grasped both his wrists in an oddly formal gesture. “We are deeply grateful to you, Radek Zelenka, for returning our children to us. My clan is in your debt. Our children are our most precious resource.”

Zelenka looked uncomfortable, so Sheppard came to stand beside him, to lend him support. McKay stepped up a moment later, his hand on Zelenka’s shoulder. “Good work, Radek,” he said quietly. “Only three more to go.”

Danl Talene came to stand next to Shil Yana as she straightened. “Not just the Yana clan are in your debt, Atlanteans. All the Villana owe you our gratitude, and the PerAn do as well.” S/he turned to Sheppard. “Colonel, Teyla Emmagan tells me that the blood of the Ancestors runs in your veins, as it runs in ours. And that you dwell in the very city of the Ancestors itself.”

Sheppard lifted a wry eyebrow, hoping that this wouldn’t lead to another dynastic struggle like the last time his bloodlines had been discussed. He really didn’t feel like being mistaken for a breeding stud again, much less like being pinched on the ass. “Why, yes. Yes, Talene. What Teyla said is true.”

“Then by both deeds and blood, your people are worthy of being named our Friends,” said Talene, smiling. Next to Talene, Shil Yana smiled blindingly as well. Behind them, Pol Osri bounced on his toes, seeming very pleased indeed.

Both of Sheppard’s eyebrows flew up. “Well! That’s certainly…nice. Thank you.”

“Yes, very nice indeed. We’re very grateful you like us,” said McKay impatiently. “Can you help us take our equipment to the next dart, so that we can extract the rest of your people, and hopefully ours?”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” assured Osri, and his men sprang into action.

~~~

By the fifth dart, the little party was more solemn. Zelenka had lost one of the lifesigns at the fourth dart. There had been three lifesigns in the buffer, according to Zelenka, but only two of Osri’s men emerged from the beam. “Do not give up hope,” Zelenka told the crestfallen commander. “We will bring it back to Atlantis with us, and try again, with our equipment there.”

“None of them are sharing bodies, like me and Cadman did, are they?” McKay inquired anxiously.

Zelenka shook his head, the waning sunlight flashing off the lenses of his glasses. “I do not think so, Rodney, but you should perhaps warn them of the danger, and describe the signs by which they may discover if this has occurred.”

And so McKay gave a rambling explanation to a bemused Pol Osri and his people as Zelenka concentrated on the fifth dart. Sheppard stood next to him glumly. “We will return your friend to you as well, Colonel,” said Zelenka. “At least, I hope we can do this.”

“I hope so, too, Radek.”

Teyla came, and stood next to Sheppard, lightly touching his forearm with the tips of her fingers.

Zelenka’s assistants stepped back at last, and Zelenka looked up. “McKay, we are ready.”

McKay came and stood next to Zelenka, with his hand gripping the engineer’s shoulder as he knelt next to his instruments. “Then go ahead.”

“Don’t you want to check, McKay?”

“I’m confident in your work,” said McKay, surprised. “By now it should be almost _routine_.” He waved his arm in illustration at the dart and the PerAn troops surrounding it, much greater in number than when they’d started.

“I prefer you check,” Zelenka insisted soberly. “We must not make mistakes, Rodney.”

“Gotcha.” McKay did that snap-point thing with his hand and knelt down to inspect the settings and readouts on all of the equipment.

At last the culling ray flashed out again. Four men appeared. Three promptly sat down, or fell over. One stood swaying, and put his hands to his head. “Whoa!”

Sheppard’s whoop of victory momentarily drowned out all the other babble. Two seconds later, he tackled Ronon in an enthusiastic, back pounding hug. Ronon might have even fallen over from the force of his taskmaster’s joy, if Teyla and McKay hadn’t also been clinging to him from each side, demonstrative in their own happiness as well.

“What happened?” Ronon asked, confusion creasing his face.

His team laughed.

~~~

“What? Sorry, Elizabeth, it’s hard to hear you over the noise. Yeah. Well, it’s sort of a big party and I think they might be working their way up to a parade.” Sheppard glanced over at the crowd of PerAn, men and women, who were carrying a flustered Radek Zelenka up on their shoulders in a cheering, happy jostle. There had been no alcohol dispersed. Yet. But the tidy, straight-laced little town his team had walked through early that day was almost unrecognizable now, with its gas-lit streets full of high-spirited, laughing people, and children running everywhere. The Villana were in evidence too. They were less exuberant than the PerAn perhaps, but smiling broadly, some of them playing musical instruments, some singing and dancing in small groups.

Sheppard looked around for his team. Teyla was dancing to some raucous music in a group with Shil Yana, Cal Pinurst, and his family. Ronon and Pol Osri were engaged in a _conversation_ of all things, that seemed to require expansive gestures and bouts of loud laughter. Where was McKay? Sheppard let his nose lead him to the patio seating of one of the restaurants that had thrown its doors open to the surging crowds, and found his quarry.

“And absolutely no citrus. Citrus? Well, here, let me show you. I’ve prepared a little guide, with some samples of citrus so that you can recognize it and keep it out of any food you serve me.” McKay was digging his damned ‘Guide to My Allergies’ out of his pack and handing it off to a serious-looking plump little Villana, who-- _oh my God_ \--was taking _notes_. They’d never be able to shut McKay up about his allergies again.

The voice in his ear brought Sheppard’s attention back to his comm. “Huh? Yeah, I think it should be safe. It’s been hours and we haven’t heard from the Wraith again. Besides, the Villana say if anything happens we can take shelter in their Tower behind their cloak and shield. Yeah. Of course, Lorne can bring an escort when he brings you over in the shuttle. I think you’d better handle this one, Elizabeth. This ‘Friendship’ gig is a big deal to them.”

Sheppard was handed something in a mug by a smiling PerAn matron. He sniffed, then took a sip. Ah. The alcohol had made its appearance. He grinned. Looked like a party tonight, then.

***

"What is it?" Johnny asked, standing at the doorway to McKay and Cara's quarters. He looked sullen and wary, and McKay almost regretted asking him to come. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Come in," McKay said, stepping quickly out of the way, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and self-conscious. He looked at his son, surreptitiously glancing at his head, to see if there was any sign of the operation--if it was reasonable to call two injections that. Johnny seemed to be exactly the same.

"How did the briefing go?" McKay asked. They were in the middle of the main room now, where the couches were, and the small kitchen. The bedrooms and home offices were down a short hallway. One of the rooms was still empty--Johnny hadn't moved out all that long ago. "And the, uh…" McKay gestured at the side of his head, not sure what to call it. 'Implantation' seemed too… alien. Unpleasant.

"Fine," Johnny said. "They were both fine." He blew out a breath, crossed his arms. "Uncle Carson said the chips implanted without a hitch. Did you call me all the way up here from the labs just to ask me that?"

So, 'implantation' it was, then. "No, of course not," McKay said quickly. Then he thought of something and backed up a step, before he could catch himself. "Does that mean… Are you recording right now?" He gestured at Johnny's head again. "Could he, could he get all this, later?"

Johnny gave a small shrug, his arms still crossed. "I'm sure _the Defender_ "--he said the name with pointed emphasis--"is too polite to pay attention to a private conversation." Johnny had obviously caught McKay's retreat, though, and his eyes narrowed even further, which hardly seemed possible. "I'm really not interested in arguing about this with you."

"Wait, okay?" McKay said as his son started to turn. He had to reach up a little to put his palm on Johnny's shoulder. "Can you wait, please? You're not the only one who has work to do--I think you can spare two lousy minutes."

"Of course I can," Johnny growled. "Because who can forget that your time is so much more precious than anyone else's?"

It wouldn't have been the first time they'd had that particular fight.

And McKay almost told him that, yes, his time _was_ more precious, and it always would be, until Johnny managed to save the city--and, oh yes, the _galaxy_ \--at least as many times as his father had. And he almost strode off righteously to his office and left his son fuming in the front room, because it was a shock how much those words hurt. It was always a shock at how much those words hurt, no matter how often he'd heard them.

But he didn't, because Johnny was going on an off-world mission the next day, in the morning--McKay had checked--and if there was one thing he had actually managed to learn from losing Sheppard, it was that there were times you had to just suck it up and _talk_ , because it might be the only chance you had. So he just said, "Please. I'd really like you to stay. This won't take long."

And when Johnny gave him a slow, tired nod it felt oddly like a triumph.

"Great," McKay said with false cheer. He rubbed his hands together. "Wait here." He darted into the bedroom he and Cara shared, went to the large, wooden chest at the end of their bed and threw the lid back, ignoring the clothes they--well, he--had piled on it that slid onto the bed and the floor.

The two things he wanted were right at the top, which was perfect, and he snatched them out of the chest and darted back into the main room. He put the jacket on the back of the couch, and held out the pouch to his son.

"This was a hand-me-down from one of the Athosians," he explained, as Johnny took the smooth, worn bag-like thing with apparent confusion. "It's a baby pouch," McKay said, his hands making automatic fastening movements as he described it, the motor-memory still clear and sharp after twenty years. "You put the straps over your shoulderS and the belt around your waist, and the baby goes in the front." He pointed at a small strip of leather as Johnny fingered it, looking a bit surprised. "That part is for the baby's forehead, so his head won't flop forward when he's too little to hold it up on his own."

Johnny blinked down at the pouch, then at McKay. "You guys put me in this?"

"Yes." McKay nodded, smiling at the memory. "Cara and I would take turns, when I was home. She'd get you one day, I'd take you the next, and we'd carry you around all day in that pouch. She'd be doing her research, and I'd be tinkering in the labs, and you'd be in your little sack, watching everything with big, solemn eyes."

Johnny was holding the pouch by the straps now, looking at it. He had a small, crooked smile that McKay knew came directly from him but reminded him oddly of Sheppard. "Cool," he said quietly. "I wish I remembered that."

McKay shrugged. "I'd be surprised if you did. That was a long time ago." That made him a little sad. "The thing is," and he hesitated, because things like this always embarrassed him, "the thing is it _was_ a long time ago. But sometimes…sometimes I guess I forget how much you've grown since then. That you're an adult now." His smile faltered, and he hoped to hell his voice wasn't really wavering. "You're just so… _tall_ , and, you're putting things in your _head_ and going on _missions_ , and it drives me crazy that I can't just put you back in that pouch and protect you anymore."

Johnny looked at him, his eyes big and solemn. "You don't have to protect me anymore, Papa," he said.

"I know," McKay said. "Or, at least, I try to know that. But I still want to. I'll never stop wanting to." His mouth flickered in a smile, but Johnny looked like he was going to say something else, so, "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to show you," McKay said quickly, to offset the fluttery feeling of panic that he'd talked too much, been maudlin and stupid, and that Johnny was about to tell him so. He took the baby pouch from Johnny's hand, placed it on the couch with exaggerated gentleness for something made of cloth, then picked up the jacket and all but thrust it at his son.

"Here," he said, nodding at the bundle in Johnny's hands. "I want you to have it."

Johnny blinked again, then unfolded the jacket, his grin widening as he realized what it was. "This was yours, wasn't it?" he asked, looking at McKay in delighted wonder.

"That's right." McKay nodded. He reached out and touched one sleeve with the tips of his fingers, feeling strangely shy. The artificial material seemed oddly alien, after years of wearing handmade clothing. "That patch is the flag of Canada," he explained, pointing at the distinct white and red. It still looked bright and unworn, as if it could hold any meaning in this far distant place. "The country I grew up in." He smiled, tasting bitterness and a surprising jolt of longing. "It doesn't exist anymore, but that's the flag of where I'm from, on Earth." Johnny knew all that, of course, but it somehow still felt important to explain.

Johnny ran his own fingertips over the patch. "It's beautiful," he said, then looked at McKay again. "You really want me to have this?"

"That's what I said," McKay said. He found one of his own lop-sided smiles. "The other sleeve has the old Atlantis symbol." He waited while his son turned the jacket over, letting the left sleeve flop. "On Earth, we called this the Pegasus Galaxy. The flying creature is called a Pegasus--it doesn't really exist."

Johnny nodded, tracing the horse's head now. "The people of Anteron have a similar creature, with wings like this. Only it has horns, too, and the head is differently shaped." He gave an oddly demure smile. "Lots of cultures seem to have a thing for winged animals."

"Right," McKay said, searching for a response to that--it seemed so irrelevant. "I'm glad all those soft sciences have actually taught you something." It was exactly the wrong thing to say, of course, and he didn't miss the dark flicker of anger in Johnny's eyes.

But Johnny pulled his smile back, before McKay could stumble out an apology. His son couldn't keep his eyes off the jacket. "Can I try it on?"

"Of course." McKay gestured at the jacket. "It's yours."

"Thanks." Johnny grinned, then pulled it on. It was one of the lighter-weight, darker-colored jackets, the kind with the brownish hue, brought by the _Daedalus_ around the middle of the expedition's second year. It didn't look very good against the rough texture or dark red of Johnny's homespun shirt, and the sleeves and hem were too short, but Johnny kept running his hands down the swatches of dark blue and he wouldn't stop grinning.

"It's a little short," McKay pointed out. It also hung oddly, since Johnny, for all his height, hadn't finished growing yet. He was too narrow across the shoulders for the jacket's width.

He hadn't realized how very strange it would be, seeing the jacket again, seeing it on his son. McKay hadn't worn it for nearly five years, since he stopped going off-world for good. He could still catalogue the stains. Blood never did clean well on that fabric.

Johnny just nodded, still staring down at the jacket. "I can get that fixed." He looked at McKay. "This is so great. Thank you."

"You're welcome," McKay said, trying to smile again in return. "Just, ah, try not to put too many new holes in it. It's practically an antique."

"I promise," Johnny said seriously, though he was still grinning. "No new holes." And McKay's chest tightened a little, because his son had no right to promise that, no matter how much McKay wished he could.

Johnny spread his arms out, looking at the jacket again, back and forth along the too-short sleeves. "This is _amazing_." And then he was hugging his father, quick and rough and almost painful with happiness. "Thank you!"

McKay's arms stiffened in surprise--it had been a very long time--and Johnny pulled back before he could properly hug him in return. "Yes, well." McKay had to clear his throat. "You're going on your first off-world mission tomorrow. I had to make sure you looked cool."

"Oh, yeah." Johnny nodded emphatically, seemingly unaware of the fact that the jacket really looked anything but cool on him. "I love it." He checked his watch, then winced. "Look, I have to get back, okay? I promised Erta I'd check her translation on those tablets her team found last week. But I'll come by later--you and me and Mama can have dinner or something."

"I'd like that," McKay said. He knew it wouldn't happen.

"Excellent." Johnny put his hand on McKay's shoulder, squeezed gently. "Thanks so much for this," he said, before he headed for the door.

"Wait," McKay said.

Johnny turned back, curious.

"Be careful," McKay said.

"I'll be fine, Papa," Johnny said.

"I'm sure you will," McKay said, and watched him go.

He stood in the main room of his quarters for a long time, hands dangling, his one eye on the floor. "I know you're there," he said at last. "You might as well come in."

"Thank you," the Defender said, and the blue hologram with Sheppard's face appeared in front of him.

"Just tell me one thing," McKay said, wrenching his gaze up to glare. "Did he actually volunteer to carry memories for you? Or did you pressure him?"

"He volunteered!" The Defender looked shocked that McKay might have even thought otherwise, which McKay supposed was a good thing. "Over twenty people from different teams volunteered, actually. He was the one I chose."

McKay frowned. "Why not just get the chips implanted into all twenty? Surely you can multitask."

"I probably will," the Defender said, ignoring the barb. "There aren't enough chips available yet--Johnny got the prototype."

"Oh God." McKay put his hand over his face. "So he had something put in his _brain_ that might not even work right." He yanked his hand away, all but snarling at the hologram. "How could you condone that? He's your nephew! How selfish can you be?"

"Hey!" The hologram's expression was a perfect mix of hurt and anger. McKay couldn't remember anymore if Sheppard had ever looked like that. "I would _never_ have agreed to this if it wasn't totally safe! Who the hell do you think I am?"

McKay actually let out a bark of wild, incredulous laughter. But he didn't say it: _I don't think you're anybody, I think you're code in a machine_.

He didn't have to say it. The Defender already knew.

"Why the hell are you doing this, anyway?" McKay said into the too-long silence. "You've got the run of the entire city, and the space station, and if you want to go off-world you can fly a jumper yourself. What do you need with chips inside my kid's head?"

The Defender crossed his arms. "Because it's not good enough," he said. "In order to defend Atlantis properly, I have to know what the threats are, out there. Second-hand reports, even ones backed up with AV, aren't good enough. I need first-hand knowledge. It's that simple."

McKay tightened his jaw, staring at him. "So in other words, you're bored. And you convinced the medical engineering team to make you a DR from hell so you could play at going through the gate." McKay felt his hands clenching. He hadn't been this angry in quite some time. "You're risking Johnny's life for a vanity project."

"Elizabeth and Ronon thought it was an excellent idea," the Defender said. The forced casualness of his voice was belied by the cool anger shining in his artificial eyes. "Lorne and Pol did too. Not to mention Beckett and everyone who volunteered for it--Johnny included." The hologram's blue-black eyebrows rose in mock curiosity. "Funny how the only one who thinks this is a 'vanity project' is you."

"Ronon worshiped the ground John walked on," McKay snapped. "And he thinks you're him--he'd do anything you wanted, no matter how asinine. And Elizabeth would too, because she's been in denial about John being dead for nearly thirty years, and letting you run rampage over logic and common sense lets her keep on pretending. Don't even get me started on Beckett. And Nick and Osri are military--if they were even capable of forming opinions, they would never offer any. So, yeah." McKay lifted his chin, glaring. "Vanity project. Don't even try to sugar-coat it as something heroic or--don't make me laugh-- _necessary_."

"McKay!" It was always strange, hearing the Defender shout--it never seemed quite loud enough, as if Atlantis was imposing some kind of volume control. He didn't breathe, either, but it still looked like the Defender took a few breaths anyway, keeping his fury in check. "God, you're a bastard," he said.

McKay didn't even bother answering that.

The Defender bent his head, running the fingers of both hands through his hair. The hair was the wrong color, but it still moved with precise imperfection, like it belonged to something alive. McKay had always admired that, those little touches, nearly as much as he hated them.

"I don't have to answer to you," the Defender said, raising his head to look McKay directly in the eye. "I don't have to explain myself, I don't have to ask for approval, or forgiveness, or even give a sweet God- _damn_ about what you think, unless it has to do with my jurisdiction." He took another non-breath, looking conciliatory now, and even with it being a hologram, McKay could tell that it required effort. "I swear I would never have let anyone volunteer to… carry for me, like you said, if I wasn't completely certain it was perfectly safe. You know I wouldn't do anything to put Johnny at risk--you're just going to have to accept that."

"You're letting him go on a mission tomorrow," McKay said, accusing.

"That was Ronon's decision, not mine," the Defender said. "But I agree with him--Johnny's ready for the field."

"He's only twenty years old!" McKay yelled. "How can you tell me he's ready to, to be _shot at_ when he's only twenty years old?"

"He's more ready now than you were when I asked you to join my team!"

" _John Sheppard's team! Not yours_!"

" _God damn it, I_ am _John Sheppard_!"

The desk lamp flared into brilliant, over-bright life, then almost instantly shattered, scattering shards of glass over the keyboard of McKay's laptop.

McKay whirled towards it, shocked, and when he looked back at the Defender it was to see him obviously fighting for calm.

"That was one of the last light bulbs in Atlantis," McKay said flatly. He wanted to be pleased that it looked like he'd managed to get the Defender as angry as he was himself, but the remnants of the adrenaline surge was making that difficult.

"Sorry," the Defender ground out.

McKay looked at the remains of the lamp again. It was going to be a real bitch getting the glass out of his keyboard, but he didn't bother mentioning that. "You haven't done that in awhile."

"I know," the Defender said. Atlantis made a sound for him that was vaguely like a smirk. "You're the only one who could ever get me that mad."

"Probably a good thing," McKay said. The momentary surprise of the light blowing had apparently short-circuited his fury. McKay wondered if the Defender hadn't actually done it in purpose--he wouldn't put it past him--except that rage he had seen in him had been entirely genuine.

"Yeah," the Defender said. He sounded subdued now, as well, likely ashamed of his lack of control. "Look," he said. "Ronon's cleared Johnny for hand-to-hand combat--and he says he's 'pretty good', by the way, which is damn high praise coming from him--and I've been training him with the projectile and beam weapons myself. He's ready for this. He's going to be fine."

"He's my son," McKay said, as if that explained everything.

"He’ll be fine," the Defender said again. "I promise."

McKay nodded slowly. "All right," he said. "All right. Just… If one of those chips has a problem--if it shorts or moves or doesn't work right and hurts him…" McKay bared his teeth, feeling the anger rising back up. It had never really dissipated, after all. "I will go into the city's computer core, and I will rip every wire, and smash every crystal that has _anything_ to do with you. Do you understand? If he gets hurt because of you, I will destroy you so completely that it will be worse than if you'd never existed. Do I make myself clear?"

"Completely," the Defender said. His voice was freezing, translucent face set, but McKay didn't miss the hurt there, in the narrowed, blue-flecked eyes.

He refused to feel badly about it. He _wouldn't_. "He's my _son_ ,” McKay said again. “That's my life, carrying you."

"I know," the Defender said. "I know."

And he looked so earnest, so very much like Sheppard, McKay wished he could believe him.

***

McKay shifted again, trying to get comfortable in his portion of the narrow bed. He huffed irritably. It wasn't as if he was unused to Atlantis' beds, though you would have assumed that they could have gotten more comfortable beds by now, he thought petulantly. Beside him, Sheppard shifted as well, and McKay froze. They had few enough opportunities to spend the whole night together; he hadn't wanted to disturb Sheppard's rest just because he couldn’t sleep himself.

"Rodney? You okay?" Sheppard's sleepy voice was followed by Sheppard's warm hand petting his shoulder. McKay flopped over onto his back. In a motion so smooth that McKay barely noticed it, Sheppard ducked back out of the way then draped himself partially over McKay’s body, so that neither of them would fall off of the bed.

Sheppard chuckled softly and sleepily into McKay's neck. "Are y'horny again? You wanna fuck?"

"It's okay, John. Go back to sleep." McKay kept his voice soft. Unlike Sheppard, who occasionally could get embarrassingly mushy, he didn't dare let himself use any endearments for Sheppard, even when they were in bed together, except for the use of his given name--all other times keeping strictly to the formal 'Colonel', or sometimes, 'Sheppard’.

It wasn't like most people on Atlantis didn't know about their relationship--or all the important people, anyway. It was a small community, with a small community's inability to hold secrets for long. It was just that, with the political climate being what it was back on Earth, and with the barbaric rules of the U.S. military establishment, it behooved most of the people who knew--people like Elizabeth Weir or Nick Lorne, for example--to pretend they _didn't_. And to enable that pretense, McKay and Sheppard practiced more discretion than was probably good for a long-term relationship.

It was thoughts like this that kept McKay up at night, more than the discomfort at sharing a too-narrow bed with his warm and accommodating lover.

Heaving a sigh, Sheppard raised his head and folded his arms on top of McKay's chest, finally resting his chin atop his forearms. His eyes glittered in the dim light as he peered down into McKay's face. "You're thinking too much again, Rodney," he accused.

"Yes, well, when you have the most brilliant mind in two galaxies, it's sometimes difficult to turn it off," McKay grumbled wearily.

"Hmph. I thought I was pretty good at wiping all the thoughts right out of that brilliant mind. I must be losing my touch." Sheppard waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

McKay felt himself blush scarlet. Sheppard could still--after all this time, _still_ \--do that to him with a few words or even the right glance. McKay smoothed his hand down the lovely expanse of his lover's back. The skin was sleep-warm and, as usual, enticingly irresistible to touch. He stroked again, nape to tailbone.

"Oh, you're not losing your touch, believe me," McKay said. "And that's the only compliment you're getting tonight, so don't go fishing for more," he warned.

"Umm. But if I _wasn't_ losing my touch, you'd be _asleep_ by now," Sheppard protested. Then he _moved_ , in a wholly distracting manner.

"OH MY GO--How do you _do_ that?" McKay demanded, feeling his cock decide that it could, after all, manage another erection tonight. "Do you go to--what is it? Incubus school, or something? AH! Damn it, John, I'm not eighteen any more. Oh! Oh, please! Do that again!"

Sheppard smirked in a completely unforgivable way as he tangled their legs together tightly and continued to move against McKay. McKay managed to wipe the smirk off his face by clamping one hand firmly on Sheppard's ass and snaking the other between their bodies to hold both their cocks in a firm grip. Sheppard's gasp and the slack, pleasure-drugged expression that took over his face were very satisfying. McKay might have managed to get out a quip about it if Sheppard-- _Oh, dear Lord, John_!--hadn't lowered his mouth to kiss and lick and nip at Rodney's neck, winding one arm firmly around his shoulders, and gripping the back of Rodney's head with the other hand, using that grip to tilt his head to the best angle for the assault on his bared throat.

Even as most of his thoughts were washed away in the physical, sensual joy of heat and friction, scent and weight, touch and taste, Rodney couldn't eliminate the small, bitter thoughts that floated at the edge of his mind. John was so careful. So careful never to leave marks. As was he. They could never allow themselves to be so carried away by passion that they would be careless enough to leave any sign on the other's body. How long would John stay with a lover he had to be so careful with?

Rodney's orgasm whited out his thoughts for the long moments it rolled through him. When he surfaced from his post-coital daze, it was to find John still rocking sweetly into the slick mess Rodney had left all over his belly. Once they got going, Rodney usually found frottage a very pleasant way to get off, albeit a somewhat messy one. While John enjoyed himself, he, or rather his cock, typically preferred to come somewhere a bit warmer and wetter. Luckily, Rodney always had something warm and wet along. He maneuvered them onto their sides and began to scoot lower down on the bed. At first John clutched at him, then as he realized what was happening he let out a breathy moan and began to pet Rodney’s shoulders.

Rodney didn’t waste any time, swallowing down John’s cock as far as he could right away. John gasped and gripped his shoulders, the rest of his body trembling. Rodney stroked John’s side and flanks, willing his lover to relax. John let out a tremulous sigh and brought one thigh up on Rodney’s shoulder, moving his hands up to caress Rodney’s head and neck. Rodney used one hand to cup and fondle John’s testicles, and swiped the other hand through what was left of the spunk on his own belly. It was just slick enough that he didn’t have to stop the proceedings to dive for the lubricant in the bedside table drawer. He brought two slicked fingers up to tease and circle John’s anus, sucking his cock enthusiastically at the same time.

John was now making a high whining sound at the end of each panted exhalation, rocking forward into Rodney’s willing mouth, back onto the slickness of his fingers. Rodney felt a jolt of satisfaction. It was hard to get John to make any noise at all during sex, and Rodney always got a sense of triumph when he managed it.

John groaned, low and deeply. Rodney swallowed quickly as come filled his mouth, and victory filled his heart.

He held and caressed John tenderly through the aftershocks of his release. He'd never had this before, McKay mused as he fumbled for the towel by the side of the bed that they’d used to clean up after the last time. He’d had one-night stands with men before, but had never had to contemplate being in a long-term relationship with one. It felt odd. He'd always thought he’d marry some day. A beautiful and brilliant blonde, of course, who would admire his intellect and help him pass along his superior genes. After all, he liked sleeping with women very much, and a woman was a much more respectable companion to have on his arm when he eventually received his Nobel.

But that dream had become as unlikely and fragile as a soap-bubble now that he had this annoying, difficult, utterly sexy man in his arms. It was freaking him out a bit that now he found he didn't want to leave Sheppard--not even for a Nobel, not even to pass on his genes. And he was also freaking out (he was Rodney McKay, he could freak out about two things simultaneously if he wanted to) about Sheppard. What if _he_ decided he wanted a wife, children, the house with the white picket fence? Or, heck, what if he even wanted to make General in the Air Force after all?

"I can't believe it! You are _still_ thinking!" Sheppard was draped on McKay's chest again, an annoyed frown on his face as he stared into McKay's eyes. His finger poked at McKay's temple. "I'm _definitely_ losing my touch. Stop that! Right now! Let's slow those gears down in there!"

"Oops?" McKay offered sheepishly. "Don't worry. Your prowess is still assured. I was putty in your hands, really. The brain just won't turn off."

The annoyed frown mutated to a worried frown. McKay wondered when he'd learned the difference, when he'd mapped out all the expressions of that animated face.

Sheppard tapped a finger just above McKay’s left eyebrow. "Something’s wrong. What’s going on, Rodney? Ah! Don't try to tell me it's nothing. I can always tell when you're lying to me."

McKay sighed and closed his eyes against that too-perceptive gaze. There were maybe a few close friends who came as close to knowing the workings of his mind as well as Sheppard did--in Zelenka's case, maybe better--but there were damned few people who believed he even _had_ a heart, much less strove to learn it the way Sheppard did. Even if the striving was disguised as casual, infuriating, annoying poking and teasing.

"Stop that!" he ordered, shoving at Sheppard's impertinent hands. "We agreed. Tickling is out of bounds. Ah! Stop! John, stop it! I'll tell, I'll tell!"

Sheppard relaxed atop him again, his expression triumphant.

"You have no sense of fair play at all, do you?" McKay accused.

Sheppard grinned. "I need all the advantages I can get where you're concerned, Rodney."

McKay sighed in defeat and looked away. "I was just thinking. You know." He waved a hand in illustration. Sheppard ducked, skilled from long practice. "I was thinking, whatifyoumetsomeone…and, what if you wanted to have kids? What if _I_ wanted to have kids?"

"Rodney, you hate children," Sheppard said flatly.

"Well, obviously I wouldn't hate my _own_ child! What would be the point in having one, then?" McKay said, the 'you moron' understood in his tone of voice.

"I don't know, Rodney. Why would you want a child? Do you have a girlfriend back on Earth that I don't know about?" Sheppard's inflection was even and guarded.

"No! No, are you kidding? You're the only--Well, I meant, theoretically, of course. I was just thinking that women throw themselves at you all the time, and I'm sure eventually it will dawn on you that you're not getting any younger and that if you want to reproduce--"

"Rodney. Stop."

McKay clamped his lips shut and looked up into Sheppard's face.

"Rodney, I’m here. _I’m right here_. I'm not going to leave you for a wife and kids, okay?" Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying, Rodney. In case it missed your attention, we're living in a war zone. We’re probably not gonna live long enough to reproduce anyway.”

McKay opened his mouth and Sheppard used a kiss to give it better occupation than further complaints. After several minutes of kissing, McKay felt himself getting sleepy, the endorphins from his orgasm catching up to him. He broke the kiss to yawn.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized.

"Mmm. Don't worry about it. Go to sleep, Rodney," Sheppard ordered as he snuggled closer. "We've got that databurst to the SGC tomorrow, don't we? Get some rest."

***

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Defender,” Aren Lev Nent said. The near-whisper quality of (his? her? Sheppard still hadn’t found a way to ask) voice was less pronounced through the electronic clarity of Atlantis’ transmission, but it still grated, and Sheppard was just glad he could turn the volume of their conversation up as high as he wanted. But he wished there was something he could do about the apologetic sibilance. Aren looked as grey as the robes he (or she) was wearing, like all the Villana’s color had been washed away. Aren still hadn’t recovered from the devastation of the Lev clan. “There is a matter of some urgency. With the prisoner.”

 _The prisoner_. Sora.

“What about her?” Sheppard snapped. It was much more rude than he normally would have been, but he couldn’t help it. All he could think of was Teyla: the way she’d twisted to the side as she fell; the blood on McKay’s hands and the way his eyes had looked as he’d fired the gun; Sora screaming that they all deserved what was going to happen to them; the look on Weir’s face when she realized what, exactly, the runner’s tracking device meant.

McKay, in the infirmary, half-blind and saying he didn’t want Sheppard anywhere near him. Sheppard trying to touch him, and his hands going right through.

Sora had cost him everything.

He hadn’t even seen her since he’d helped Beckett rip the tracker out of her back in the infirmary. And since the Wraith had come, he’d made sure she was fed and watered and hadn’t been left rotting in her own filth, and tried not to think of her at all.

Aren blinked large, night-dark eyes at the hologram, possibly startled by his tone. With the typical Villana reserve it was hard to tell. “There is a thing she has revealed that is of the utmost importance, Defender,” s/he said, gesturing towards the cell. The wide, grey sleeve of Aren’s robe flapped out with the movement, like a wing. Sora lay on her cot, staring sightlessly up at the featureless ceiling. Only the occasional, slow blink gave any indication the woman was still alive.

Sheppard wished he didn’t have to look at her, but neither the optical sensors nor the cameras gave anything other than a full view of the room.

“So tell it to the Tal.” Sheppard managed to keep from snarling it.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aren said, looking flustered now. The sleeves fluttered as Aren’s arms moved in emphasis. “This knowledge must be for you alone, Defender. The Tal can’t know of it, or she would be forced to act.”

“’Forced to act’?” Sheppard repeated. He lowered his hologram’s eyebrows, showing both his lack of comprehension and his steadily rising anger. “Deliberately withholding vital information to the well-being of Atlantis is treason, Aren,” he said, making his voice cold and deliberate. “You know--"

“ _Please_ , Defender!” Aren cut him off with uncharacteristic boldness. “Listen--just listen. It’s all I ask. But when you hear you will understand why the Tal _cannot know_.”

“Fine,” Sheppard said. “I’m listening.”

And Aren took a breath and finally told him.

“The prisoner has been prepared for her mind to be emptied of memory, which is why she is quiescent,” Aren explained, gesturing at Sora again. “The procedure lays the guilty bare for us, so that we know the entire contents of their minds by the end of it.”

Sheppard just nodded. Not even Weir had objected to Sora undergoing that kind of violation. “And…?”

“And, she and her band were acting alone, Defender,” Aren said. “The Genii were not involved. They are blameless in what happened to Atlantis.”

“That’s not possible,” Sheppard said immediately. “She had a Wraith tracking device sewn into her back--the Genii must have allied themselves with the Wraith, it’s the only way they could have gotten one.” The lights in the large room flickered, and Sheppard contained his anger with an effort. “Don’t try to tell me she approached the Wraith on her own!”

After McKay and Lorne’s attack, What remained of the Genii’s brutal civilization had been so thoroughly obliterated that, Lorne had confidently told him, ‘simple farmers’ would be their only available occupation for at least a hundred years. Sheppard wasn’t going to accept that they had actually been innocent, that they had been decimated for nothing.

“I am sorry,” Aren said. “But this is true.” Aren sounded as stricken as Sheppard was beginning to feel. “When you returned her to her people, Sora was shamed for her part in the failed attempt to take the city during the storm, along with the few soldiers who had also survived.” It was weird--Sheppard knew Aren hadn’t been aware of the Genii’s aborted invasion, which meant everything Aren was telling him had come from Sora’s head. Sheppard wondered how warped her memories of the event had been. “The humiliation and sorrow of that moment was exceedingly sharp in her mind,” Aren was continuing. “She blamed her misery on you, on Atlantis, as she blamed Teyla for the death of her father. Later, she blamed your people for the disappearance of the General Kolya, then for Cowen’s death and the coup.” Aren’s head shook in slow amazement. “Every terrible thing, she blamed on you.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said brusquely. “The Genii aren’t real big on personal responsibility.” He crossed the hologram’s arms. “Then what?”

Aren nodded. “Then she took the soldiers with her to the Yu-lash, and stayed there, nursing her loathing, until a runner came through the gate, and begged the first person she saw to remove the tracking device from her back.”

“And the first person was Sora,” Sheppard said quietly. “Jesus Christ.”

“It was one of her band,” Aren said, though s/he nodded again. “But the end is the same. The runner was killed, her device put into Sora, and Sora promised the eternal Friendship of the Genii, if the Yu-lash would help her destroy Atlantis. And the Matron agreed.”

“Why didn’t the Wraith come?” Sheppard asked. He thought of the Yu-lash Matron, her saccharine smiles as she lied, as she condemned them all. A culling would have been too good for them. “Ronon said they usually come within hours of a runner arriving through a new gate.”

“We know she went through the gate again, only two hours after the runner’s death,” Aren said. “With the Matron’s blessing, and the blood still fresh on her back.”

The Wraith must have known when the tracker’s location changed, Sheppard figured, since they hadn’t attacked the Yu-Lash. Which was too bad.

Aren’s mouth curved in a cruel smile. “Her memories of that time hold much pain. But she moved from world to world, barely stopping long enough to dial the gate and travel through again. She didn’t eat or sleep for two days.” Aren briefly touched his or her belly with a hand half-buried in a grey sleeve, as if in recalled hunger. “She would dial the Yu-lash gate regularly, to speak with one of her own on the other side--it was how she knew that the Yu-lash Matron had successfully contacted you, and how she knew when it was time to go back.”

To wait by the gate, with weapons, for Sheppard’s team to come through. Sheppard’s team, who were on their way to the dinner the Matron had asked them to attend, as honored guests.

“The Matron told us she got our gate address from the Manarians,” Sheppard said. There had been no reason not to believe her. They had assumed that the Manarians had learned Atlantis’ address from their Genii allies, and given it to the Yu-lash in turn.

And the Atlantians had needed food badly enough by then that they were willing to trade with friends of the Manarians--they hadn’t had a choice.

“The Genii were innocent of the crime she committed, Defender,” Aren said. “And yet, Doctor McKay, and Major Lorne have destroyed them.”

Sheppard nodded numbly. And Ronon too, of course. And all the Marines who had gone with them. But the Marines and Ronon were following orders. Lorne and McKay had planned the attack, built the weapons to help carry it out.

“McKay can’t know,” Sheppard said. “None of them can know.” God, the _Tal…_

The Tal, Weir, would have no option but to withdraw her clemency. Lorne and McKay had skirted close to genocide, perpetrated on innocent people. There was no way a transgression of that magnitude could go unpunished. Not even if they had thought it was justifiable at the time.

Sheppard couldn’t help looking at Sora, at her blank eyes. That was what the punishment would be.

He tried to imagine McKay, like that: Waiting to have his mind ripped away from him, to become a slave. _Quiescent_ , Aren had said, but Sora already looked emptied, like there was no longer a person behind those lifeless and unseeing eyes. Sheppard thought it might have made him sick, if he’d had a body.

“You see,” Aren said simply, “why it was decided that I should come to you.”

“Yes,” Sheppard said. His voice was clipped with leashed fear. “I understand. Thank you.” The hologram’s tongue darted out, licking blue-tinged lips, a play of light on light. “How many of you know?”

“There are five of us Truthtellers, Defender,” Aren said. Aren’s hands were clasped, completely hidden now by the sleeves. “Three from Rills, one from the D’moor clan, and myself. Five who know. But if you agree, Defender, we can…forget."

"What do you mean?" Sheppard said.

"There is a process," Aren said. "Not so invasive as what we have done to the prisoner. We can…cloud the memory, make it inaccessible to our conscious thoughts."

“You’d do that?” Sheppard said. It seemed incredible, impossible, that Aren, the other Truthtellers, would even offer.

“Of course,” Aren said solemnly. “For Atlantis.”

 _For Atlantis_. To save everyone the burden. “What about me, Aren?” Sheppard asked. “Can you help me forget as well?"

Aren shook his/her head regretfully. "I am sorry, Defender. The matrix where your mind is housed is inorganic. It would not be…accessible to our talents."

"Never mind," Sheppard said hurriedly. "Just do whatever you must for the rest of you."

Aren nodded. “It shall be done.”

“Thank you,” Sheppard said again. He hoped Aren had some sense of how grateful he truly was. “You made the right choice.”

Aren inclined his or her head with deliberate grace. “Defender of Atlantis, we depend on you,” Aren said, using the ritual phrase. “It is our pleasure to be able to serve in return.”

Sheppard managed a smile, though he still felt like he was reeling. “Thank you,” he said one more time, because he couldn’t think of any other words, and made the hologram disappear before he had to say anything else.

Dear God. They had all assumed that the Genii had had a hand in what Sora had done. And Sora’s jaw had been broken, wired shut. There was no way for her to tell them otherwise, even if she had been willing to. And the Villana telepaths were not used for interrogation; it was considered an unforgivable abuse. That was why the permanent memory erasing was their worst possible punishment. That, and how it removed the guilty as a threat forever, without actually killing them--an uneasy compromise.

Sora deserved it. But her people hadn’t deserved what had happened to them. Nothing should have happened to them.

Ronon, Sheppard thought, would probably escape punishment, if Weir found out. But Lorne and McKay wouldn’t. And McKay…

McKay would know exactly what kind of payloads the weapons he’d designed had, he’d know to the millimeter how much matter one could destroy. He’d be able to figure out to the nth decimal point how many lives had been taken. And if he knew it had been done for nothing…

It had taken nearly a year for McKay to forgive himself for fixing the Genii bomb that Sheppard had ended up carrying in the back of a jumper, as he flew to his near-death in the belly of a Hive ship. As if McKay could somehow have known that the remote piloting idea wouldn’t work, as if McKay had somehow _wanted_ that to happen.

He still hadn’t forgiven himself for Doranda.

McKay would never forgive himself for this, if he knew. Not ever. He would probably welcome what the Tal would be forced to have done to him.

And having Lorne and McKay’s virtual ‘deaths’ on her conscience might just kill Weir, too.

Sheppard couldn’t let that happen. Atlantis needed the Tal and McKay--and Lorne--too much. And the truth would only destroy them all.

And Sheppard needed McKay too much to let anything happen to him.

So. Sheppard would carry the knowledge with him. He alone. For McKay. For everyone. It was better that way.

Sheppard had all of Atlantis as his body, now, and he was used to guilt. This was just one more burden.

***

“Hey, McKay,” Sheppard said softly. He could tell by the way McKay breathed that he wasn’t sleeping.

Johnny was, curled up in an incredibly awkward tangle in the chair next to McKay’s bed. Johnny’s head was cradled in his crossed arms, his crown mashed up against his father’s thigh. McKay’s hand was resting on the back of Johnny’s head, gently carding through Johnny’s hair as his son slept.

They were in a private room, one of several Beckett had requested be installed over twenty years ago. The fact that auditory and optical sensors and hologram projectors had been automatically included was a courtesy Sheppard appreciated.

This room was one of the nicer ones, with a large window and a typically excellent view of the surrounding towers and the deep blue ocean in between. It was deep into night now, the ocean an indistinguishable layer of black beneath the smothering black of the sky. No stars tonight, just the lights of Atlantis, shining out in their own artificial constellations.

Sheppard watched from the feed in the ceiling as McKay slowly turned his head, blinking up at the hologram with his single eye. Someone had removed his eye patch, and the scar was jagged and black in the shadows of the room, the empty socket like a tiny cavern into his skull. It was like the darkness was slowly claiming him, a little piece at a time.

It was thoughtless of whoever had done it. Sheppard knew that McKay was terribly self-conscious of his damaged eye, that he felt horribly exposed if it wasn’t covered. McKay had never told Sheppard that, of course, but Sheppard had seen it, in the way McKay would adjust his eye patch before he went into a meeting--taking a second to make sure it was on straight, showed as little of the torn flesh as possible.

It seemed horribly unfair that McKay didn’t have the eye patch now, when so much of his dignity had already been stripped from him.

McKay’s mouth moved soundlessly for a long, painful moment, and Sheppard could see how hard McKay had to fight to be able to say anything at all.

“Defender,” he managed finally, though his mouth was so slack with paralysis that if it wasn’t for Atlantis’ automatic enhancement, Sheppard wasn’t sure he could have understood him.

McKay’s attempt at a smile was only a loose twitching, and a small string of saliva slid out of the corner of McKay’s mouth. Sheppard badly wished he could wipe it away for him.

Sheppard smiled in return, as big and genuine as he could manage, though it was all he could do to keep himself under control, to not start overloading random systems all over the city. “Lousy party, huh?” he asked, and was thankful that his voice didn’t shudder or break.

McKay twitched a non-smile again, and huffed out an approximation of a laugh. Johnny moved a little, but McKay gently stroked Johnny’s head and he quieted again.

“Used to…help sleep,” McKay explained laboriously. “When he…little.” The words were almost unintelligible, but Sheppard could still hear the wistful fondness there. “Long time.” McKay slowly turned his head away from Sheppard, so he could look down at his son. He kept stroking his fingers through Johnny’s hair. “Won’t say goodbye,” McKay said. He sighed in a weak puff of breath. “Idiot.”

Sheppard stepped forward a little, until he was right next to McKay’s bed. If he still had a heart, he knew it would be pounding. As it was he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “You don’t have to say goodbye,” Sheppard said.

 _Don’t go_ , he thought. _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go_.

McKay looked at him again. His mouth couldn’t hold an expression, but his one good eye still managed to show both annoyance and incredulity. “ _Dying_ ,” he said, with even more exaggerated care than he needed now just to speak. “Last chance.”

“I mean,” Sheppard said, stepping still closer. He made the hologram crouch until its useless eyes were level with McKay’s. He lowered his voice, even though he was only speaking into McKay’s ear implant. He couldn’t help it--it felt like he was sharing a precious secret. “I mean that you don’t have to die, McKay,” he said. He grinned, though he knew it was too anxious, unreal. “I can make Atlantis do to you what she did to me--she can make you into a second Interface, another Defender, or something like it.”

McKay just looked at him, blinking. Mouth a drooping, unreadable line. Long enough that Sheppard wasn’t sure he’d understood. He kept his hologram perfectly still, aware that the position would have hurt, were he capable of physical sensation.

 _Please, Rodney_ , he begged silently. _God, Rodney, please_.

“You want,” McKay fought through the words, “me, to be…like _you_?”

Sheppard nodded fractionally, fighting for calm. _Please_. “Think about it, McKay,” he said, speaking quickly. “The entire database of the Ancients--you can find out _anything_ , with just a thought. Anything! Remember how I gave you the address for the planet with the ZPM factory?” He waited, but McKay didn’t nod, didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him with his one good eye. “Or, or when Leda Dex got sick with that virus and Carson thought she’d die until I found the cure in the database?” McKay still watched him in silence. “You, uh, you could do that. Even more stuff, probably.” He smirked, though he felt nothing but fear. “You’ve always known your way around the tech better than me.

“You wouldn’t have to leave your son,” Sheppard said. “You’d still be there for him.”

“Hologram,” McKay said at last. Sheppard might have been startled, if he hadn’t been watching him so closely.

“Yeah.” Sheppard nodded again. He wasn’t sure what McKay meant--was he asking if he could have a hologram body like Sheppard did, to interact with? Or was he saying he didn’t want that? It was so hard to tell. He was used to McKay’s face saying almost more than his seemingly inexhaustible stream of words did, and now the stroke had taken both of those things. “You could have a holographic form--any age you wanted, even.” He gestured at his face, still smiling. “You could look just like you did…Like you did before. It wouldn’t have to be blue,” he added, since they would be together, like this. Both of them parts of Atlantis. McKay wouldn’t have to mourn anymore.

“No,” McKay said.

For a second the hologram froze completely, like a stilled piece of film. If he'd had lungs he would have stopped breathing. "You wouldn't have to have a hologram!" he said quickly, because maybe that was what McKay meant, maybe that was all he'd said 'no' to. And John could understand that. He could. He didn't particularly like his hologram, either. "There's--Doc Beckett and some of the engineers have figured out how to make the chip implants more than just recording devices." His smile had slipped, and he yanked it back frantically. "The 'carrying' thing would be for real. We'll be able to see and hear whatever the volunteers do, in real-time, as if we're inside their heads. It'll be like having real bodies!"

“No,” McKay said again.

“You don’t mean that,” Sheppard said, and he was fighting off panic, now. “You can’t just… You haven’t even _thought_ about it--” _Don’t go…_

He watched as McKay swallowed, tried to lift his right hand to wipe his cheek. It seemed that only his left arm was truly capable of any kind of movement, but McKay didn’t shift it from Johnny’s head. Johnny slept on, exhausted and oblivious. Sheppard wanted to wake him--all he’d have to do was speak directly into his ear implant. Johnny had to want his dad to stay alive; maybe he’d be able to help Sheppard convince him. But Sheppard saw McKay’s fingers curling possessively in Johnny’s hair and he didn’t.

“No,” McKay said. “Never.”

“You wouldn’t be just a program, McKay,” Sheppard said, desperation curling through him like spreading ice, “It’s not--"

“No!” McKay shouted, his voice surprising in its strength.

Johnny startled awake, then pushed himself up, blinking bewilderedly.

“Papa?” He asked, looking between McKay and Sheppard’s hologram. “Are you all right?”

McKay turned his head, trying to smile. “S’all right,” he slurred. “Sleep.”

Johnny smiled uncertainly at him, and Sheppard knew he hadn’t understood what his father had said.

“He said he’s all right,” Sheppard translated for McKay. He forced himself to smile again, as if he were all right, too. “He told you to go back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, looking a little sheepish. “Thanks.” He yawned, rubbing at an eye with the heel of his hand. He smiled down at McKay. “I’m okay.”

“Johnny,” Sheppard said gently, “could you give your dad and me a minute, please?”

Johnny blinked at him again, obviously still confused with sleep. “What? Oh--oh, sure. Sorry.” He stood stiffly, grimacing as he leaned back and stretched out his arms. “Wow,” he said, “I think I’ve done myself permanent damage.” And Sheppard had to laugh a little, despite everything, because Johnny sounded so much like McKay.

“I’ll be back really soon, all right?” Johnny said in the doorway, and only left when he saw McKay’s tiny nod and almost-smile.

“Please, Rodney,” Sheppard said, as soon as it was just the two of them. “Don’t leave me alone.”

McKay took a long time to reply. Sheppard watched, desperate, as McKay’s mouth worked, trying to force out the words.

“Please,” Sheppard said again.

“John,” McKay said, “would…never…ask.”

***

“The Wraith sleep,” said Aren Lev Nent softly. “It is done, thank the Ancestors.” S/he (Sheppard still hadn’t inquired which was appropriate, and it was difficult to tell with certainty. The Villana telepath’s androgyny was like a funhouse mirror, sometimes seeming more male, sometimes more female) looked pale and tired.

“How can you be sure?” Beckett asked nervously, wringing his hands and constantly darting little glances at Sheppard’s hologram out of the corner of his eyes.

“Because my people sleep,” Aren said wearily, staring down the roomful of pallets where Aren's clansfolk lay in calm, deathlike stillness. “And you have said yourself, Doctor Beckett, that they cannot be woken. You called it a…'comma'?”

“ _Coma_ ,” corrected Beckett absently. “Aye, but how can you be sure the Wraith are asleep as well?”

“Well,” drawled Sheppard. “The Hive ships aren’t firing on the city any more.” They had all stopped at once, when Aren Lev Nent said the Lev clan’s telepaths made mental contact with the Wraith in them.

“Not just these Wraith, Defender of Atlantis.” Aren bowed slightly in the hologram’s direction. “But, through them, _all_ the Wraith. Everywhere. As many as we can sense.”

“All the Wraith in the whole Pegasus Galaxy?” Sheppard lifted the hologram’s eyebrows in incredulity. “That’s a lot of Wraith. And a heck of a big galaxy.”

Aren’s own pale eyebrows flew up like wings, heading for his or her hairline. “In the reaches of the mind there is no distance, Defender. Doctor Beckett’s gene therapy, with the gift of your fallen comrade, allowed my people to touch the Wraith’s minds and to influence them. They are actually surprisingly easy to control. We thought they would struggle more.” Aren's face grew thoughtful. “Perhaps they would have, had we attempted to influence them to damage their ships, or to do something contrary to their natures. But we only asked them to sleep, which they do in any case, in their own time.”

“But, when will they wake up?” Beckett asked.

“I do not know,” Aren said. “Perhaps when my own people awake… _if_ they ever awake. Or perhaps when the last of my people die.” S/he looked solemnly at Beckett. “How long can you keep them alive in this state, in this ‘coma’, Doctor Beckett?”

“Years, decades, sometimes,” muttered Beckett, eyes wide as he contemplated the peacefully sleeping faces in pallet after pallet down the length of the room. “Holy--Aren Lev Nent, did you know--did your people know this could happen to them?”

“We knew it was a possibility.” Aren nodded slowly. “We knew a sacrifice might be necessary. As you did.” S/he looked pointedly at Sheppard’s hologram. “We were prepared for the possibility that the defense of Atlantis might demand a great sacrifice. And so it has. This room holds almost all the adult telepaths of my clan. The Rills and the D’moor clans have telepaths on Atlantis, and, of course, there are others back on our homeworld. But here…here is the wealth of my clan, of Lev, spent for the safety of us all.”

“Poor devils,” mumbled Beckett, flinching as the hologram drew up to Sheppard’s full height beside him. Sheppard wanted to snap at him that the hologram wasn't going to bite him, for Christ's sake, but he knew now was most definitely not the time.

He just wanted to get the hell out of there, start _doing_ something. His only job for hours had been modulating the shield, and that didn't take all that much concentration. He was antsy, worried about McKay, and sick to the teeth of everyone talking about his 'sacrifice', as if this was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

He was _fine_. He just needed a distraction, something more to do.

“Right.” Sheppard nodded to Aren Lev Nent. “We need to make sure that your peoples’ sacrifice wasn’t for nothing. We’ve got to see if we can destroy or disable those Hive ships without waking up the remaining Wraith.” He turned to Beckett. “How is Rodney doing, Carson?”

Beckett licked his lips, and clasped his hands together tightly. “He’ll live. He’s lost the one eye, but I believe we’ve saved the sight in the other. Our Rodney won’t be a handsome lad anymore, but he’ll live.”

“Good,” said Sheppard grimly. “Page me when he’s ready for visitors, Carson. I’d like to break the news about _this_ myself.” He waved a hand down his hologram. “In the meantime, if you will both excuse me, I’m going to have a talk with Doctor Zelenka about those Hive ships still hanging over our heads.” He nodded briefly at them before fading the hologram from the room.

***

Ohgodohgod. All the blood. His fingers were slimy with it as McKay pawed through the medkit for the special bandage for heavy bleeding, fumbled it out of its packaging, and slapped it over the gory hole in Teyla’s side. Her breathing made this high whistling sound when he did it, as if she wanted desperately to scream but wasn’t able to. McKay darted a look to her face: it bore a greyish tinge, her nostrils flared as she sucked down air, her mouth twisted into a tortured grimace, her eyes wide with hugely dilated pupils.

“Hang on, Teyla, we’ll get you to back to Atlantis. Carson will fix you. Everything will be okay. Hang on,” he babbled as he packed more bandaging on the wound, which hadn’t stopped bleeding. Damn it. Teyla was usually the informal medic of their team. They’d all had the first-aid battlefield training, but Teyla had the bulk of the practical experience. McKay finally leaned on the wound to put pressure on it, drawing a piercing, agonized scream out of Teyla as she scrabbled, clawing, at his hands. “Nonono, I’m sorry, sorry, Teyla. We’ve got to stop the bleeding. I’m sorry it hurts. Just… Just hang on, I’ll give you something for the pain. Just a minute, let me get the bleeding stopped. Oh shit! I forgot to check for an exit wound. Where else does it hurt? Teyla, look at me! Where else are you wounded?” Teyla stared unseeing out in front of her, panting harshly, her hand still gripped loosely around his wrist. All the blood. All the blood couldn’t just be from the one wound, could it?

McKay felt desperately along Teyla’s other side, along her back, barely noticing the sounds of battle ranging around and above him. From the moment they’d stepped through the Stargate into Genii gunfire and the Yu-lash’s obvious betrayal, McKay found that he’d barely been able to spare a thought to the firefight, other than to stay out of the way. Because Teyla, Teyla who usually worked to protect _McKay_ from harm, Teyla who had been right _next_ to him, had gone down like a stone, atypically gracelessly, as soon as they stepped through the gate. And McKay had looked down and the first thing he’d seen was the blood. As if from far away, McKay heard Colonel Sheppard shouting something to Ronon, heard weapons discharging, occasionally felt the heat as something fired or detonated or…something. He couldn’t spare the attention for it. His hands had just found the _other_ gaping hole in Teyla’s other side, lower down on her back. It was twice as large as the first huge hole, and he felt the sharp edge of broken bone along with the wet slide of torn flesh with his fingertips.

Again he fumbled for more bandages, packing the exit wound by feel, afraid to move Teyla too much for fear of doing further damage. What else needed to be done? Right. Treat for shock. He quickly shoved a pack under her boots to elevate her feet, and wrestled a space blanket out of the emergency kit to tuck around her for warmth.

Again, her hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength. “Doctor McKay,” Teyla hissed, voice rough and low from pain. “ _Rodney_!”

McKay brushed the sweaty hair back from her forehead, grimacing when his hand left a smear of her own blood on her face. “You’re going to be fine, Teyla. We’ll get you back to Carson, and you’ll be fine.” He flinched and tried to shield Teyla with his body as something exploded nearby and peppered them both with detritus.

“I will not. Rodney, I would like you to perform the final rites of my people. I know Halling taught them to you.” Teyla’s eyes were calm, though pain carved lines in her face and her voice was gravely.

McKay’s stomach clenched and he tasted bile. After the incident when the puddle jumper got stuck in the wormhole, early in their stay in Atlantis, when Dr. Weir had denied Halling’s request to deliver Teyla’s final rites, Halling had made a point to teach the Athosian deathrite to all of Teyla’s teammates. McKay had acquiesced readily and learned the ritual. He’d been aghast at Elizabeth’s decision not to allow Teyla her faith’s final rites when he’d learned about it after the fact. He didn’t believe in the moronic gibberish formal religions tended to spout, and he certainly felt free to mock them at will, but he never would have considered _denying_ someone the comfort of their faith as they faced death. It had been exactly as if she’d refused a priest the right to deliver extreme unction to a Catholic. He’d never confronted Elizabeth about what he considered a poor command decision, because, after all, he’d made some poor choices himself in the heat of an emergency. And, if memory served, that particular emergency had been pretty hot. But in his heart, he’d still felt the decision itself had been wrong.

Which was why he raised no objection now to Teyla’s request. Instead he took a deep breath to center himself, looked into her eyes, and chanted the proper words in Ancient, singing the musical parts softly. Trying to say with the tones of his voice, with the look in his eyes, that she didn’t _need_ this rite yet, that they would _save_ her.

He didn’t know about his eyes, wide and glittering with unshed tears, the streaks of Teyla’s blood decorating his face, clumped in his hair, making him look like a wild man. McKay only saw the look in Teyla’s eyes as she concentrated on hanging on to see the rite through. As she drew increasingly labored breaths and blood bubbled from between her lips, staining her clenched teeth crimson. As she gripped his wrist with still-surprising strength.

When McKay was nine years old, he’d had a cat--a singularly inoffensive Persian tom--named Brahms. Brahms had gotten out of the house and been promptly hit by a passing car. He had died in McKay’s arms. McKay had seen the animal’s eyes as he died. And from that day he’d known. No matter his parents’ carefully fostered atheism. No matter his own inclination to find organized religion idiotic claptrap and a fit target for mockery. From that day he hadn’t been able to comfortably call himself an atheist. Because there was something. He’d seen it. Whatever made Brahms _himself_ and not some other cat, or a flower, or a bird, or a human child, he'd seen it in his cat’s eyes and seen it depart in the moment of his death. Even as a child, he hadn’t needed Brahms’ eyes to close (they hadn’t), or for the animal’s final breath to leave his body, or for the warm form to grow cold and still. He’d seen Brahm’s soul leave.

And he watched Teyla’s soul leave now.

He stopped speaking. Teyla’s corpse didn’t need the rite. And she was gone. He’d seen. As when he’d held Brahms’ body in his arms all those years ago, he didn’t need Teyla’s eyes to close (they didn’t) or her corpse to grow cold and still (it would, but it still hadn’t). He just knelt for a moment with the vacant shell of his dear friend in his arms and felt the beginnings of the emptiness her absence would leave.

Then he stood, drew his sidearm, and fired several times into the chest of the Genii soldier who had been about to shoot John Sheppard.

***

“I can’t,” Sheppard said. “It’s not holding.”

Two and a half days, now. Two and a half days of constant concentration, and Sheppard was so exhausted that even with Beckett’s stimulants the need to sleep was like an unending crush of static in his head. The world had narrowed to the silky feel of the control pads of the chair under his fingertips; the eerily beautiful schematic of the steadily disintegrating shield, glowing blue and purple and red around him; the quiet murmurings of McKay muttering to himself, or offering bits of half-heard encouragement.

Ten minutes earlier McKay had relayed the information that Beckett had finally injected the gene therapy into the group of Villana telepaths. In four hours, give or take, they would know if they could contact the Hive mind of the Wraith, affect them in any way at all. In four hours Atlantis might be safe, the war over forever.

They weren’t going to last another four hours. Sheppard could barely see straight, but the washes of purple and red took up almost the entire schematic, and his mental commands to shift the few remaining blue areas towards the critical zones were sluggish and painful, like trying to move through quicksand. McKay was still frantically shunting around the remaining power in Atlantis without irreparably draining any of the vital functions, but he couldn’t keep up with the insatiable need of the shield.

They had already lost all the outlying piers of the city, the shield shrinking until the dome only covered the center towers, sacrificing the rest the way it had when Atlantis was still under water, saving the most important places and giving the rest up to the sea. And still it wasn’t going to be enough.

He wasn’t even sure he’d spoken loudly enough for McKay to hear him, but a second later he heard a frantic, “Oh, no. You’re right, you’re right, oh my God, we have to--John! Get _out_!”

Sheppard would never know what McKay had seen. But he had been watching the schematic as the shield suddenly flashed purple/red and shrunk again. He had just enough time to realize that the tower the control chair was in was now completely vulnerable, when he felt McKay’s hands tight around his upper arm, yanking him up and out of the chair--

~~~

Sheppard didn’t feel the impact. Then he was screaming himself awake, reacting to pain before it even registered in his consciousness.

It felt like his guts had been torn out of his body, his ribs turned to knives. He couldn’t move his legs.

The room had been almost dark before, with only the weak glow of the emergency lights and the friendly blue glow of the chair as the illumination. Now there was nothing at all, the darkness complete, and he was in so much pain that he couldn’t move, wasn’t sure he would ever be able to stop screaming.

“John! John! Oh, God!”

Sheppard felt hands on him, on his side, left arm, face, and he grabbed McKay’s arm, clutching. He slid one hand up until he felt McKay’s wet palm against his, and McKay let their fingers lock, and Sheppard just held and held on and held on until it finally gave him control.

“John, please! I can’t see you! I can’t see!” McKay’s voice was tight with panic, his free hand frantically pawing at Sheppard’s face, fumbling for a pulse in his throat, and Sheppard realized that McKay had probably thought he’d died, just then, when his screaming had stopped.

“I’m here,” he said, and making his voice work was terrible, but he felt the spasm of relief in the hand that McKay still had wrapped around his own, and it made it okay, made it worth it.

“I can’t see,” McKay said again. “I thought you died.”

“I’m here,” Sheppard said. “I’m okay,” which was a complete lie, but McKay needed to hear it. He could taste blood in his mouth, warm, wet copper that he attempted not to choke on when he swallowed. He tried to move, to sit up, but he couldn’t move his legs, and the surge of pain that ripped through his torso made him sag back gasping. There was something hard and jagged against his side--torn metal, maybe the chair.

“John!”

“Nothing,” Sheppard said, panting. “M’okay.” He took a breath, as deep a one as he dared through the searing pain. “Shield.” He could hear the almost-constant hammering of missiles against the undefended walls of the tower now, knew it was only a matter of minutes until the rest of it came crashing down on them, maybe only seconds until the Wraith started transporting in. “We have to--“

“I know, I know,” McKay said quickly. “Is the chair still working? I was hit. Something hit me in the face. I can’t see.”

“No lights,” Sheppard said, but he reached out, groping for McKay’s face with a hand that shook so badly he could barely lift it. He grazed something smooth, and suddenly there was a small noise of a machine limping back to viability, and there was light again: weak, anemic, but still glowing out from the silver-traced metal. The chair tried to tilt back the way it normally did when a user sat in it, but it was lying on its side, blown off its base in the explosion, and could just scrape along the floor. Sheppard only realized it was crushing his legs when it started moving. The pain was unbelievable.

He jerked, screamed again. McKay shouted something that Sheppard couldn’t make out through the haze of agony, and then the chair finally stopped.

“What? What is it? What happened?” McKay demanded. Sheppard was still gripping one of McKay’s hands, wasn’t even sure he could let go now even if he wanted to, but McKay’s free hand was on his chest, moving as if he were trying to feel for an injury. “Is this… Is all this _blood_?” McKay’s voice cracked with a kind of horrified awe.

“The chair…” Sheppard gasped.

“What?” McKay asked, moving his head but obviously seeing nothing despite the control chair’s feeble light. Sheppard could see torn skin down one half of his face, bisecting one eyelid, leaving a dark pit where his eye had been. His entire face was covered in blood, sickly black in the light. Sheppard couldn’t tell if McKay was totally blind, or if it was just the blood in his remaining eye.

“It’s working,” Sheppard said. He was still touching it, just barely. “I can’t… I can’t move. You have to… The shield…” He had to stop just to breathe, to fight through another wave of pain. The room was freezing. He wondered if the environmental controls had been taken off-line by the blasts. All he could taste and smell was blood.

“It’s working? Why can’t I see anything? Oh my God, I’m blind…!”

“McKay!” Blood from Sheppard’s mouth spattered McKay’s already-stained shirt.

“Sorry, sorry,” McKay said quickly, voice thin with fear. “I just…” He took a breath, fumbled with his free hand until his palm was solidly against the chair’s seat. Instantly the blue brightened. “Is that doing anything?” McKay’s still-intact eye shut as he concentrated. “I can’t see the shield. Is it there?”

“No,” Sheppard said. McKay hadn’t been able to make the display. Maybe the chair was too broken. With tremendous effort he moved his hand so it was also flat against the chair’s seat, next to McKay’s, and tried to think about wanting to protect the city, hoping it would help.

For a moment the blue light was so bright it was blinding. And then Sheppard felt something almost like a prickling of electricity, directly inside his head.

 **Interface: yes/no?** It was like someone was whispering to him, but it was like the sense of electricity he'd had--right in his mind.

“Interface?” McKay had heard it too. He had his head tilted up, staring sightlessly at the high, cracked ceiling, as if the words had come from there.

 **Interface: yes/no?** More insistent, now. A tug.

“The city,” Sheppard said. He could feel it--the whisper, the electric tugging. The city wanted--

**Interface: yes/no?**  
**Interface: yes/no?**  
**Interface: yes/no?**

“Yes,” McKay said. “Yes, yes, all right!”

The blue glow went incandescent.

Sheppard heard McKay’s gasping scream, felt McKay’s hand tighten around his until the pain was almost a distraction from the rest of his abused body. He saw McKay stiffen, his head snap back like he’d been shot. His one eye rolled back in his head.

Maybe it was because their hands were still connected, but Sheppard could feel it, what was happening, and it was like McKay was _disappearing_ , being pulled away from him, fading out…

“No!” Sheppard tried to sit up again, to put more of his body against the chair, to block McKay’s access to it, but his body was cold, failing, too weak. “McKay! Rodney!” But McKay couldn’t hear him.

But Sheppard was still holding McKay’s hand, and he could still pull, he had enough strength for that.

Sheppard yanked, and McKay’s hand slipped away from the chair, his body tumbling forward and collapsing, and Sheppard could feel the severed connection and it _hurt_. He almost blacked out, maybe would have if it wasn’t for the whisper, back in his head, feeling almost angry now, desperate:

**Interface: yes/no?**

McKay was lying half-on Sheppard, half on the debris-strewn floor. Sheppard could feel the warmth and life of McKay’s body, McKay’s warm, rapid breath against his throat, and Sheppard shivered in cold and in pain, and he was still holding McKay’s hand, and the Wraith missiles were still hitting Atlantis, destroying the city, killing it…

**Interface: yes/no?**  
**Interface: yes/no?**

“Yes,” Sheppard whispered.

 **Accepted.** It was almost like joy.

The chair went incandescent again.

It was like falling through ice into freezing water: the exact same shock that steals all breath; the exact same kind of drowning.

***

When it happened, Sheppard was the only one there.

There had been a steady stream of visitors all day. The entire science division, it seemed, had come to pay last respects to Doctor Rodney McKay. Most only paused for a brief farewell. McKay had fallen asleep, then slipped into a coma sometime that morning, so he neither knew, nor cared, about any of it.

Pol Eliska came and stayed, stalking up to the bedside as if going into battle. A glare from her had Johnny sighing and reluctantly exiting the room after patting his father’s leg through the blankets. Will took a moment and came to Eliska’s side. He hugged her and kissed her temple despite her forbidding scowl, before going as well, leaving her alone with her former teacher and the soft beeping of the medical monitors.

Alone except for the Defender. Sheppard stayed, though nobody knew. He had been near McKay ever since they had brought his limp form home through the wormhole, and had never left. Most of the time, he hadn’t bothered to activate the hologram, preferring to remain invisible and unnoticed. He used his hologram elsewhere in the city, going through the motions of interacting when people needed him, but the vast majority of his attention was in the infirmary room.

He felt like a balloon, tethered to earth by a fraying and increasingly unraveling string, and that string was McKay--every time McKay’s heart beat, every time his lungs drew in air, was another moment Sheppard was still there, still alive.

Eliska held the railings of the hospital bed in a tight grip, and stared down at McKay as if her force of will alone would make him wake and sit up and talk once again.

“Stubborn, arrogant old man!” she hissed at last, breaking her silence. “You just had to go and check up on me one more time, didn’t you? You could never trust anyone’s work but your own. You would never believe that I am just as capable as you ever were, as my Papa ever was. Oh, I remember the stories he’d tell me about you--you weren’t as perfect as you liked to pretend, old man. You blew up most of a solar system once, in your arrogance, remember? This time you blew up yourself, didn’t you? Always wanting all the attention! Instead of everyone congratulating me on the brilliant way I saved Will, they’re all thinking and talking about you instead. Will you stop at nothing to get all the glory?”

She stopped, chest heaving, face red from emotion. Her fist pounded the bed railing three times. Eliska slowly reached down and picked up one of McKay’s gnarled hands, cradling it in her own.

“Uncle Rodney, why are you leaving me? You should have stayed home and worked on your book and provided me with intellectual stimulation when I could get away from these morons long enough to visit you.” Eliska’s voice was thick, and her eyes bright from unshed tears. “And…and I got you such a good birthday present…” She bent to McKay’s hand and kissed his fingers gently, then reached into a pocket and produced a small device. It activated as soon as she folded it into McKay’s palm, glowing and softly playing a melody that Sheppard recognized as Brahms’ Lullaby.

Sheppard watched, invisible and disembodied, while Eliska stalked from the room. He watched the stream of visitors continue: young and old, military and scientist, Tau’ri, PerAn, Athosian, Villana--Atlanteans whose lives McKay had saved, had changed, had shaped. He supposed it was an invasion of everyone’s privacy to watch and listen to their final goodbyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t bring himself to leave McKay, for even a moment.

He was watching when representatives of the Yana clan crowded into the little room, and a dogged Del Yana performed the ceremony to officially present the grim-faced Johnny and his new Yana bride to her new father-in-law. Apparently the ceremony didn’t require that all of the relatives be conscious. Sheppard thought McKay would have had something cutting and sarcastic and utterly hilarious to say about the whole thing. Or maybe he would have been upset and furious instead. Johnny finally had no buffer between him and the demands of his clan, and was getting a front-row seat on the bitter reality of clan politics at last.

Sheppard was there when Weir came in early that evening, leaning heavily on the still-formidable arm of Pol Osri as she carefully walked into the room. Lorne followed them, stiff and stone-faced, cane thumping on the infirmary floor. Osri lowered Weir carefully into a chair next to McKay's bed, and she sat there for the next hour, one of his lax hands in both of her own, all three equally speckled and wrinkled with age. The music of the lullaby played softly in the background.

Sheppard listened as Weir told McKay about the recent events in Atlantis, things he knew she thought McKay would enjoy hearing, probably all the things she had been anticipating telling him at the birthday party that hadn't happened. Sheppard refrained from sharpening the pickup on his auditory sensors as Weir leaned forward at last and whispered her goodbye into McKay’s ear--he could afford them that much privacy, at least. Weir left quickly after that, leaning on Osri again, wiping her eyes as Lorne petted her long white hair in comfort. Sheppard couldn't help wondering what she had said.

She had been the last visitor. After that it was just Will and Johnny, McKay and the faint lullaby. And the Defender, McKay’s personal ghost.

And, at the end, there was only Sheppard. Will had managed to drag Johnny to the mess for some more coffee-substitute and his first meal in nearly twenty-four hours when it happened. Atlantis was monitoring Rodney's heartbeat and breathing, so Sheppard knew when both of them stopped--heart first, lungs almost immediately after. At the same moment, the music died. The little device, still in Rodney’s hand, stopped its endless repetition of the lullaby, mid-note.

Mary Beckett came in, with one of her nurses, but she did nothing. McKay hadn't wanted heroic measures or resuscitation. He had told Sheppard that a long time ago, before Sora and the second siege of the city. Sheppard hadn't argued--he had always assumed he would die first.

"Please mark the time of death as nine forty-seven," Mary said quietly. She smiled when the young man with her nodded and left, but once he was gone she put a hand over her mouth. It shook as she silently cried.

It took Mary a few minutes to regain control. Sheppard watched as she told Atlantis, voice trembling and wet, that Doctor McKay was dead.

And Sheppard felt the tether snap.

He just…drifted away. His hologram shut off, in a far section of the city, flickering out in the middle of a sentence. He heard Jinto trying to speak to him, then Lorne, then Weir, but he couldn't respond to them.

He rose up into darkness, until his awareness came in

_Leda Dex, trying to contact him. Her voice is cajoling and gentle and rolls over him like water. The words are meaningless data-points and he doesn't notice when she gives up._

intermittent flashes,

 _McKay's funeral, conducted by candlelight, a naquadah generator hooked directly to the Stargate. Weir is a pillar of dignity and strength as she gives the first eulogy. Her cataract-filmed eyes shine in the semi-darkness like pale glass, her long white hair cascading down her back like a river. At the end of the ceremony they dial the gate by hand, and the flare of energy engulfs McKay's funeral bier, destroying his body and making him part of the universe_.

between the black

 _Someone asks Weir when Atlantis will have more functioning than just basic life-support. Weir, tight-lipped, tells them that the Defender is grieving. She asks them to be patient_.

and the silence

_Pol Eliska, voice shrill and angry with grief: "I can't find him, Tal Weir--I don't know if he's hidden himself, somehow, or has managed to block my searches, or…" She looks up, eyes large and anxious in the emergency light. "He might have destroyed himself. It's possible he's just…gone."_

and then not at all.

~~~

Days passed, he guessed, though he barely paid attention. More generators were brought in, but they wouldn't work unless they were hooked directly to a single system, like the gate or the infirmary's Ancient scanner. Anything larger--the control room, communications--and they failed immediately. Atlantis remained dark, and quiet, and lonely.

The city mourned for him, and Sheppard drifted.

He had been missing Rodney McKay for nearly forty years: Every time McKay insulted or turned away from him, every rejected overture, every refusal to accept more than a painful near-friendship, every adamant denial that he was still the John Sheppard McKay had loved.

McKay had never been a part of Sheppard's life as the Defender, not really, no matter how much Sheppard had wanted him to be, would have been grateful for it. But McKay had still always been _there_. Even when all McKay felt for him was bitter rage, even when McKay went off-world and Sheppard had to stay behind, even when McKay had married someone else and finally moved to the Mainland. He had always been there.

And because of that, Sheppard had, in the dimmest corner of his awareness, been quietly optimistic that somehow, someway, he would one day convince Rodney that he was real, and Rodney would love him again.

But now Rodney was gone, and the emptiness left in his wake was so huge Sheppard didn't even know how to fight against it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. This wasn't just grieving, this was the death of hope--the end of every lie he'd ever told himself, every scrap of precious denial that had allowed him to lose his body and his freedom and his love all at once and carry on, and keep carrying on.

He didn't want to keep carrying on anymore.

He had to, he knew he had to. He had his duty, as the Defender. People were waiting for him, depending on him. He had to go back.

And he would. He would. Just…not now. In a while. In just a little while, he would reemerge, and apologize to everyone, and turn the power and the hologram back on and pretend to smile and pretend to talk and move and listen, just like he'd been doing for forty years. The pretense was so ingrained it hardly registered anymore, and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, except for duty. Atlantis needed him.

He had always been good at pretending.

So, he would carry on, the way he always had. As soon as the emptiness went away a little, just a little.

Just a little while.

~~~

There was…Something, in the endless dark and silence. Like a tiny fragment of light, a beacon.

Sheppard uncoiled slowly. He had no idea how long the (message? program?) had been trying to attract his attention. Time could be measured to the nanosecond here, so precise it had become meaningless. Sheppard had let the days wash over him like water, like a river, slowly drowning him. He could find out exactly how long it was with less than a thought, but he didn't care.

But this, this tiny beacon…

It was a vid-message, addressed to him: “the Defender of Atlantis.” He activated it.

The image showed Rodney McKay, from perhaps five years ago, sitting at his desk and fiddling with what had surely been the last paperclip in Atlantis. McKay cleared his throat, put down the paperclip with a _click_ on the desk top and laced his fingers together, looking into the camera. His single eye was as sharp and blue as the sky of Atlantis. Sheppard idly wondered why he had never seen this vid before--he had access to all the video feeds in the city.

“Ah, Defender,” video McKay said. “If you’re receiving this message, then the city’s computers have recorded my death. I’m sure it was a heroic end, a great loss to everyone, etcetera, etcetera.” McKay waved a hand in idle self-deprecation, and looked away from the camera, gnawing on his bottom lip. McKay had never been all that good at self-deprecation.

“Anyway, I left you a--well, I suppose you could call it a ‘goodbye’ gift.” In the video, McKay did the air quotes with a self-conscious little smile. Sheppard’s attention sharpened, despite himself. A final gift from McKay?

“I’ve had a sort of hobby, the last few decades,” McKay said. “Ever since--ever since the Second Wraith Siege is what I suppose they’re calling it in the schools now--I’ve been looking for myself.” McKay grimaced and waved both hands violently in front of his face. “Oh, God! What a mental image! No, no, I don’t mean it in flower-child, psychobabble terms. Oh, Gah! Need to go wash my mind out later with some nice differential calculus… Anyway, what I meant to say was…you know how I always maintained that you were a computer program?”

McKay’s single eye pinned Sheppard through time, space, and quantum physics, past death and into the very depths of his soul.

“I wasn’t just saying it to be cruel, Defender,” McKay said softly, earnestly. “Though it probably sounded like I was. I liked you, actually, in my own way. It was just…hard, to look at you, and see John’s face. Because I was right. When the chair broke down, all those years ago, Atlantis started to take me, before it took John. I felt it. So, I went looking.”

McKay leaned forward a little, toward the camera. His one good eye was large and blue and sad.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know…I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But I was right. Atlantis made a copy of me, Defender, just before John pulled me away from the chair. Which means Atlantis made a copy of John, as well.

“And that copy is you,” McKay said, gently.

 _The copies are not the original_ , Zelenka had told him, decades ago. _Just as good, maybe in some ways better, even. But not original. Not exactly the same_.

“I’m truly sorry, Defender,” McKay said.

Not the original.

Not real.

Not anything.

All along the West pier, lights blazed up, stronger and brighter than human sight could bear, then all at once blinked off.

“I couldn’t bear to think of a copy of myself running loose somewhere in the Atlantis systems,” McKay was saying. “So I found it--it took over thirty years, you know. Some people would say that such a thing couldn’t be done in one human lifetime, but some people don’t have my unmatched genius.” McKay waved a hand in the air, as if batting away his own ego. “And when I found the program that was the copy of me, I also found the program that was the copy of John Sheppard.” His voice went quiet again, apologetic. “I found you.”

All the jumpers, still and quiet in the jumper bay, started up at once.

“I could have deleted you, Defender,” McKay said. “I could have deleted both copies at once. But you…” McKay made a gesture like an abortive shrug. “I might have, years ago, when you first came online. I think at the time I might have even decided it was a mercy. But…” He shook his head. “No. To be honest I couldn’t even think about it.” He gave a small, tragic smile. “But I did think about deleting the copy of me. I thought about it for a good long time.”

The space station and the satellites hanging in orbit above Atlantis like a glittering, jeweled necklace all suddenly powered down. The inhabitants of the space station, who hadn’t dared use the puddle jumpers before because the Defender could control them, began emergency evacuation procedures.

“But I couldn’t do it either, and not just because the program was dormant and, well, couldn’t defend itself. I just thought about it, and thought about you…”

All over Atlantis, systems powered up, and kept powering up into overload. Explosions rang out and debris rained down.

"…and, as I said, you're not a bad guy, Defender. Zelenka even convinced me you're a person. 'A difference that makes no difference, _is_ no difference' and all that." The air quotes were sheepish this time.

Voices, so far away from him he could barely register any of it: shouting; weeping; threatening him; begging for mercy.

Johnny’s voice: “Uncle John, _stop_! You’re destroying the city!”

Weir: “John, please. _John_! You can’t _do_ this, John.”

“I know I was never able to give you what you really wanted, Defender. And I’m sorry for that. It’s just…you were never able to give me what I really wanted, either. You weren’t my John Sheppard. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some happiness. So…I’m giving you a gift. From me. I hope it’s what you want. I wish you well, Defender. Goodbye.” The figure of McKay in the vid gave an awkward little wave with the tips of his fingers before the vid-message stopped.

Eliska: “I think--Tal Weir, I think I can eliminate him if you believe it’s necessary. I don’t… If we must, Uncle Rodney left me instructions, and--”

 _Kill me_ , Sheppard thought. _Yes. Please. Do it now. Do it now_.

“John? John? Are you there?”

He knew that voice.

“Where am I? Why can’t I see anything? The last thing I remember is…Oh my God! I’m blind! The chair-- _John_! John, where are you? Oh, God, please, John, tell me you’re still with me! Talk to me, dammit, I couldn’t bear it if--”

“Rodney?”

All power, flowing everywhere in the city, stopped. Atlantis went completely still.

“Rodney?”

 _A copy_ , he thought, the words bright and vicious. _Not real, not real. Rodney is dead_.

“John! Where are you? I can’t see you. Oh, God, am I blind? Did I go blind? The Wraith! What happened? Did we do it? Did the shield hold? John!”

 _Just like me. He’s a copy, just like me_.

 _Just like me_. A difference that made no difference. A copy as good as the original.

Rodney.

And he was waiting for an answer.

“I’m here, Rodney,” the Defender said. “Right here. I’ve been here all along.”

And all around him, Atlantis settled into order, power flowing calmly again--through the city, and its satellites, and its space station--like breath through a body. Like life.

***

The graveyard had been built a few minutes walk away from the Athosian village, in a gently-sloping, sweet-smelling meadow that was occasionally trimmed by volunteers so that the grave-markers didn’t get buried among the wild grasses.

It was a pleasant place, gently warm in summer, with trees in the distance and an unobstructed view of the sky. McKay knew that the Athosian children would come to play hide-and-seek among the markers, or the adults to meditate. McKay was privately certain that some Athosians came to make out--it was a nice place for it, definitely away from prying and possibly disapproving eyes. McKay figured the dead didn’t mind.

Sheppard’s grave was on the highest point of the small hillside, close to Teyla. McKay was the one who had insisted on the location--he thought Sheppard would like being nearer to the sky.

All the grave markers for the people from Earth were made of metal--most of it from the destroyed parts of Atlantis, since those portions were currently beyond repair anyway. They all had been engraved with the date of birth, death, and the date the deceased had originally joined the expedition. The closest people to them in the city had added epigraphs as well, things like ‘beloved friend’ or ‘we will always remember you’. Sheppard’s had ‘Defender’ instead of a date of death, though at least the day was the same. Someone had added ‘still taking care of us’ underneath.

“Hi,” McKay said, as he settled himself down on the soft grass. He pulled his pack into his lap and opened it, taking out a canteen and a wrapped sandwich, putting them both neatly down next to him. The canteen wouldn’t stay upright on the ground, so he leaned it against the grave marker. “I thought we could share some lunch, since they won’t need me in the village for at least another hour.” He shook his head ruefully. “I _trained_ these people--you’d think they’d be able to maintain a few simple solar-power generators on their own, but there you go. I’m surrounded by incompetents, regardless of the galaxy. And yes,” he added, “because I can practically see you rolling your eyes, of _course_ I could have sent one of my minions.” He snorted. “I wanted to see you. So sue me.”

He unwrapped the sandwich carefully, picking up half and taking a large bite. “Oh, this is good,” he said around the mouthful. “It’s some kind of bird-thing we got from our new trading partners. They’re the Yakka, I think. Something like Yakka, anyway. Not the birds, the people. They were so grateful that we managed to rescue nearly a whole _town_ from a Hive ship that they just threw, like, half a year’s harvest at us. Elizabeth insisted we couldn’t take it for nothing, of course, which means more work for me, since pretty much every piece of ‘technology’--and I’m using that term loosely here--they have is at least a hundred years old and basically doesn’t work. And Elizabeth traded labor for food in her infinite wisdom, naturally. Like I don’t have enough to do.” He took another bite. “Anyway, it tastes like turkey. You’d like it.

“The worst thing about being so busy trying to put the city back together and dealing with broken technology and idiots is that I don’t have time to go on most of the rescue missions, and that’s really too bad, because there’s something very satisfying about watching a Hive ship explode.” He put down the sandwich and grabbed the canteen, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. “Mai’lahn tea,” he explained, gesturing with the canteen. “Probably the closest thing to lemonade I can drink without dying. Another nice bunch of people who are obscenely grateful to us.” He thought for a moment. “I have no clue what their name is. Pretty much the only thing they had to trade was this tea, though there seems to be some metal deposits in their mountains, which I want to check out--if we could start smelting our own building material, we’d be a lot closer to restoring Atlantis. Of course, it would help if we could get a few more ZPMs, though Ronon’s leading a team that’s working on that. We’re also considering using pieces of the citadel on the Villana and PerAn’s home planet, but a lot of their city is in worse shape than ours.” He carefully recapped the canteen and put it down against the marker again. “The rescues have been going really well, by the way--though I’m sure you could have guessed that.”

He picked up the first half of the sandwich again, finishing it in two large bites. “I’m just glad we _can_ blow the Wraith up, you know? I was thinking that we’d just have to leave all the Hive ships there--the fifteen in orbit and the rest all over the galaxy--until, I don’t know, all the Villana telepaths died or something, poor bastards. Right up until those two ships collided and blew up right over the city.” He paused to swallow. “I’m sure I told you about that, how we figured that was it? They’d all wake up again like when you killed the Hive Queen? That was a really bad moment.” McKay shook his head. “Really bad,” he said softly. He twitched his shoulders, as if shaking off a chill, then took another drink from the canteen. “But they’ve never woken up, no matter how many ships we destroy. Cara Yana--I mean, Cara Yana _Astal_ , mustn’t forget the stupid ‘extended House name’, or whatever the hell it is--thinks it’s because this hibernation was forced on them, rather than being natural.” He shrugged, picking up the second half of his sandwich. “I really don’t care. All I care about is that we can kill them all. Or at least, all the ones we can find."

“Wow, that sounds blood-thirsty, doesn’t it?” McKay said after a moment, blinking. “I don’t know if you’d approve or be horrified.” He paused. “Well, they deserve it,” he said at last. “After what they’ve done to this entire galaxy for thousands of years. After what they did to you.”

He was still holding the remaining part of his sandwich, but he just sighed and put it back down on the wrapper. Then he scowled and picked it up again, taking a large bite as if in defiance. “Anyway, you’ll never guess who we found in the last Hive ship--the most recent rescue, I mean. The Wraith aren’t all gone yet, and we might not actually be able to find them all. It’s a pretty big galaxy, and they were all over the place.” He took another bite, smiling as he chewed. “Five Satedans. Not from the original culling, though. I don’t think the Wraith could keep prisoners alive in those web things for nine years, even if they wanted to. I wasn’t there, of course, because these days it’s a feat worthy of great epics when I can get out of my lab, but apparently this group had gone through the Stargate on business or something, and only found out that their entire planet had been culled when they tried to get back. So they stayed where they were, only to get culled themselves eight years later. Which really, is just painfully ironic. But to make a long story short, Ronon rescued them. They’re back in Atlantis now, submitting to Carson’s dubious care in the infirmary, and Ronon is so happy it’s actually frightening. The man has a truly terrifying smile, you know. And I haven’t seen him like this since--“ McKay cut himself off abruptly, glancing almost guiltily at the grave nearest to Sheppard’s, where the marker read: ‘Great leader of her people. She will never be forgotten.’

McKay took another long drink from the canteen. “Well,” he said, with brittle brightness, “enough about that.” He finished the sandwich with something like grim determination.

But he didn’t say anything else for awhile, just folded up the used wrapper and tucked it into one of the pockets of his bag. He finished the last of the tea in his canteen, then put it back into the bag as well. Then he just sat quietly, threading his fingers through the soft grass covering the grave.

“It’s almost a year to the day since you died, you know,” McKay said softly. “There’s going to be a big celebration tomorrow, commemorating the defeat of the Wraith.” He smiled a little. “Elizabeth made me listen to her speech three times.” He ran his hand back and forth along the grass, feeling the softness of the blades against his palm. They were warm from the sun. “I won’t be going,” he said. “The hologram will be there, and…and I don’t really feel much like celebrating. I’m going to the memorial, though. For everyone who, who didn’t make it. That’s tonight at midnight.” He looked at Sheppard’s marker, at the words he hadn’t chosen, would never have wanted. “They won’t let me say anything for you. I’m sorry.”

He dug his fingers into the ground, until he could feel the cool touch of earth against the tips. “I miss you,” he said. “So much.”

“Right, okay.” McKay pulled his hand away, wiping the dirt off on his pants. He stood, grimacing a little, and shouldered his pack. “Well,” he said, “I should be heading back--they’re probably looking for me. Or destroying something.” He smiled again, a small, sad turn of one side of his mouth. “I’ll see you soon.”

Then he touched the top of the grave marker, felt the smooth warmth of metal in the sun, before he headed back down the hillside.

***

**EPILOGUE**

"It's almost time," Jaison says, close and warm by her ear. His fingers touch her shoulder, equally warm, but his hand is shaking, she can feel it through the light cloth. He nods, gesturing at the room below with his chin, where the Tal is walking across the floor, resplendent in his ceremonial robes, red as blood.

"I can see," Tayla says, but she turns her head so he can see that she's smiling at him. Jaison has dark skin, dark eyes and hair, a long, powerful body and long, anxious fingers. She sees his throat move as he swallows, and she thinks she might never have loved him so much as she does now, in this moment, because he's still going to do this, because his want is as great as his fear.

"You don't need to be afraid," she says, even as she moves a little away from him, ready to walk down the stairs.

"I'm not afraid," he says. "I'm eager." And he smiles, and his eyes shine like black water, and she almost believes him.

The Tal is standing in front of the gate, now, and he lifts his head, and there is no more time for talking. The ceremony is about to begin.

"Atlantis," the Tal says, meaning the city and his people, both. "This is Robert, family Sree, House McKay, Eighth Tal of Atlantis, who summons you."

There is a large crowd gathered on either side of the gate, leaving a neat path down which Tayla and Jaison will walk, in just a moment. Tayla hears them all murmur _Lord of Atlantis_ , and bow their heads, hands over their hearts. She and Jaison do the same.

There are hundreds of others doing the same thing, all over the city and in the space station, and thousands on the Mainland. Only a select few were able to be present in the gate room, but this ceremony almost never occurs more than once a generation, and everyone is attending it.

Tal Robert smiles, then raises his head to look at Tayla and Jaison, waiting at the top of the stairs in the control room. "Today, we welcome Tayla Col and Jaison Lorne, as Carriers. He stretches one hand towards them. "Please join us now."

Tayla had assured herself that when this moment came, she would be solemn and dignified, but everyone in the gate room--her parents, Jaison's parents, family, House, friends and colleagues--are turning to watch her descend the stairs, and right now she can't help the giddy smile she knows everyone will be able to see. She gropes sideways until she is able to wrap two of her fingers around one of Jaison's, and she gives it a tiny squeeze before she lets go.

They walk down the stairs together, side-by-side as they will be from now on, and pass between the two groups of attendants. She wants to smile at every face she passes, but she schools her features instead, watching only the Tal's face, hoping she is able to convey the proper dignity and gravity of the moment.

Then she sees Manog-carries-Preserver, and solemnity is easy again. Manog is standing behind the Tal and to the side, as if she doesn't wish to be visible. The woman is looking away from the Tal, Tayla and Jaison, and the audience, her eyes on the gate as if she is waiting for her salvation to walk through it. The fingers of one of her hands are rubbing frantically back and forth over her thumb. The fingers of her other hand flutter against her mouth, which is pinched and tight, like desperation and mourning. The blue robes she wears are the same rich cloth as Tayla's, the same deep blue, but Manog looks pale and thin in hers. Like she has been hollowed out, like everything vital that was in her has been taken away. She is all sharp angles now where Tayla remembers lush curves. Manog's mouth is crooked and thin. It just looks ugly, now.

It hasn't even been that long. Askiya-carries-Defender only died two weeks ago.

Tayla wrenches her gaze away, feeling voyeuristic and a little ashamed to be so fascinated by Manog's grief. But Manog and Askiya were adults when Tayla was a child--she has many, many happy memories of following behind them as they walked the long halls of the city, watching in wonder as they slipped back and forth from themselves to the other souls: the subtle changes in words, tones, gestures. The fluid shift from single to plural, women to men, as the ones they carried pushed forward, the Carriers slid back. And Tayla had watched the easy, unthinking dance, and wanted that with all of her being.

She has worked nearly her entire life for this moment. She has tried never to think about what it would mean for her to finally have it only to lose it, the way Manog-carries-Preserver has done.

"Welcome," Tal Robert says, and gives Tayla and Jaison a brief, regal smile as they kneel before him. The Tal is not an overly tall man, though his family is Athosian, but right now he seems to tower over them both, even Jaison. It's like looking up at the sky.

"Tayla, family Col, House Joen," the Tal says, as preface to the ritual question. "You are here of your own free will, without force or coercion, to become the Carrier of the Preserver of Atlantis. To share your body, mind and soul with him. To let him speak with your voice, move with your limbs and know with your senses. To let him share your past and future, and all parts of your life, as you will his. To take on this honor, and this burden, from now until you or the one who Carries the Defender dies--is this so?"

Tayla's heart is pounding so hard she isn't certain she even manages to nod. Her voice is a cracking whisper. "It is so."

But he must have heard her, because the Tal smiles, and inclines his head.

Tayla waits as Tal Robert asks Jaison the same question. She closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing, thinking _it is done, it is done_ , and suddenly Jaison is touching her elbow and her eyes snap open and it's time to stand and move aside.

"Manog-carries-Preserver," the Tal says, and his voice is almost painfully kind. "Please come forward."

Manog flinches all the same, like the Tal has struck her, but she still nods, quick and nervous, and moves to a position in front of the Tal. Her eyes dart around like frightened birds, settling on nothing. Tayla wonders if Manog is thinking of running. She wouldn't be the first Carrier who tried it.

Manog's eyes flit to Tayla, and Tayla instantly looks away, afraid of what she'll see there--terror or envy or hatred.

Two enforcers silently pull away from the front of the crowd, near enough to Manog that they can tackle her, if need be, and they both have stun weapons. And Tayla doesn't have to look to know that there are two medicals standing nearby as well, with a gurney.

"Manog-carries-Preserver," the Tal says again. "family Lem, House Netherene." His voice is so gentle it is hard to believe it is the Lord of Atlantis speaking. Manog just stands there, her small hands in tight, trembling fists at her sides. She is like a dry branch in harsh wind. "Atlantis thanks you, but it is time to relinquish the Preserver, so that another may Carry him."

Manog says nothing, makes no sign she has even heard, but when she blinks Tayla can see the tears run down from her eyes.

"Please," Manog whispers, as the Tal reaches into the large pocket sewn into the front of his robes. The room is utterly silent--it is as if Tayla can hear the entirety of the city breathing--but the word just slips down like Manog's tears, unacknowledged.

 _It is known, of course, what the Carriers do when it is time to relinquish_ , her instructor had said. _But it is never remarked--ignoring their weakness in their last moments is the least we can do for them. It is the only dignity they have_.

There have been relinquishments, Tayla knows, where the Carrier had to be stunned or held down. It is in the histories but no one ever speaks of it.

But the tiny, single word is all that Manog says. After that she only closes her eyes, rigid as stone as the Tal opens the small, inlaid box and removes the metal syringe. She obediently kneels and bends her head back when the Tal touches her shoulder.

She stays perfectly still as the Tal drops a tear of white liquid onto the small, gold circle on her forehead.

Tayla stops breathing. Beside her, Jaison clenches his fists in the cloth of his black robes. She can hear the minute hitch as he inhales, knows he's holding his breath as well. The enforcers and the medicals shift, ever so slightly, waiting. The circle on Manog's forehead fades to grey and then disappears, as if melting into the flesh surrounding it.

Some Carriers have gone insane, right at this moment, the severance too much to bear after the two-fold grief that precedes it. Some have attacked the audience, or the Tal--there is one (spoken of by the potential Carriers in hushed whispers) who fell, writhing, managing to tear out his own eyes even before the enforcers could stop him--others who, frantic with despair, broke through the throng long enough to make it nearly all the way to a balcony. One managed to throw herself into the sea.

One, generations ago, fell dead the instant his mark vanished, as if what he had truly relinquished was his own life.

So they wait. But Manog just draws in a breath, sharp and quick, and collapses, sinking sideways, almost regally to the gate room floor before the enforcers catch her. One swings her gently up into his arms, like a child, before laying her on the gurney. The silence stays like a presence as the enforcers and the medicals leave.

Manog will be taken to the infirmary, and she will be treated with the utmost respect and care, but she won't live for very long. They never do.

"Ancestors keep her," the Tal says quietly. The gathered audience murmurs in echo.

There is the expected moment of silence then, and when Tayla raises her head Tal Robert is smiling at her and Jaison, and it is finally, finally time.

"Come forward," he says, and she and Jaison do, then kneel once more. Tayla wants to tip her head back immediately, but she knows that won't make the Tal move any faster, and will look foolish besides, so she just fixes her eyes on a deep red fold in his robe, trying to keep her hands relaxed on her thighs as she watches him replace the first box in one pocket then pull out the larger one, decorated in intricate patterns of black and dark blue.

"Jaison," the Tal says, and Jaison tilts his head back, and smiles.

The liquid in this syringe is gold, and Tayla watches as it falls onto Jaison's forehead and forms into a small, perfect circle. Jaison shudders ever so slightly, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. When he opens his eyes his grin is wide and shocked, and maybe it already looks different, somehow, or maybe that is just Tayla's imagination.

"I can _feel_ him," Jaison whispers. "It's…" But he just blinks, still smiling.

"Tayla," the Tal says.

The liquid is cold, and it feels almost like the minute shocks of waterspray as the nanovirii burrow down, through her skin and bone. There is a moment when she feels absolutely the same, and then…

A _touch_ , a press of warmth, not physical but she can _feel_ it. An awareness, a presence… And suddenly she is not alone.

"Oh," she whispers, amazed. "Welcome."

And inside her mind, the Preserver of Atlantis laughs.

~~~

She knows, even as she walks side-by-side with Jaison after the ceremony and the celebration, that it's inevitable that they come here. She and Jaison have shared her quarters many times--they would not have been chosen to be Carriers if they had not already chosen each other first--but it has been years since she's felt this kind of anticipation. This is her and Jaison's first night as more than just themselves, and the first night for the Defender and the Preserver in their new Carriers.

She can feel the Preserver's curiosity--he's looking in her memories like she is something new and beautiful only he can understand--but also the sadness, underneath. He is grieving for Manog and Askiya.

Because she is carrying him, his grief is also becoming hers, just as he will learn all of her own sorrows. There will be no barriers between them.

Such is the honor, and the burden.

"You okay?" Jaison asks, and he is already changed, they both are, obvious in the unfamiliar word she still understands, the particular drawl that is foreign but instantly familiar.

"Sure," she says, and she has never used that word, never bobbed her head like that when she nods, but at the same time it's as if she has always done so, and she _knows_ she has, and the juxtaposition of that makes her blink and smile, and say, "I'm fine," with so much surprise in it that Jaison gives her a look that is entirely skeptical and completely his alone, and she smirks in a way she never has and always did, and then they are at her quarters, and the door is open and then they are facing each other in the bedroom.

Inevitable, as is the gentle, almost pleading _push_ of the Preserver coming forward, waiting for permission, and she gives it. And then the hand reaching for Jaison is both hers and not-hers, the movement like an echo, like a dance where she follows the steps, and she is looking at Jaison's brown, brown eyes, but it's like she can see the green in them, because that's what he remembers. And when Jaison puts his long hands on her shoulders it feels exactly right and exactly like Jaison and nothing like Jaison at all.

"John," the Preserver says with her mouth. "I missed you." And she thinks _Askiya_ , and the pain is deep and very, very real.

"I know, I'm so sorry," Jaison says, forming the words. "But I'm here. I'm here now. It's okay." And he puts his hands on either side of her head, the way John always has, the way she remembers.

And when he whispers _Rodney_ into her mouth, before they kiss, the name feels like her own.

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago [Springwoof](http://springwoof.livejournal.com/) wrote a story called [Left to Fend](http://www.wraithbait.com/viewstory.php?sid=2350) _Left to Fend_ is about an Atlantis of the near future, where the expedition has been out of contact with Earth for over eleven years. In this alternate universe, Weir has become an absolute ruler, McKay has a young son, and Sheppard has become part of Atlantis.
> 
> I liked it so much that I wanted to find out what happened next. But most importantly, I wanted to find out what had happened _before_. Who was the mother of the little boy? How did Weir become this almost godlike leader? And what had happened to Sheppard?
> 
> And why was McKay's child named 'John?'
> 
> I asked Springwoof if I could write the story of what happened before _Left to Fend_ , and after. Springwoof liked the idea so much that we ended up writing the story together.
> 
> And that was the story.


End file.
